


Just Until The Storm Has Gone

by MoraLeeWright



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Drama, F/M, Gratuitous smut with a healthy dose of plot and angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, did I mention smut?, levimika - Freeform, rivamika
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraLeeWright/pseuds/MoraLeeWright
Summary: It was the way he walked that got her: the power in his stride, the confidence with which he moved, never arrogant. Each night she became more and more restless, and each night he looked more and more attractive. Something had been building—a pressure slowly rising and liable to burst. And perhaps it had been growing for a while now, well before she'd arrived at his doorstep with a storm at her back. Mikasa was at the end of her rope. And the war had ended a while ago.





	1. Not From This Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not from this anger, anticlimax after  
> Refusal struck her loin and the lame flower  
> Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods  
> In a land strapped by hunger  
> Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds  
> And bear those tendril hands I touch across  
> The agonized, two seas.  
> -Dylan Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaack. Sooner than I'd thought, but just can't stay away from Rivamika. This is based off a oneshot I did for a Rivamika event on Tumblr. A very...smutty oneshot. This fic is probably going to be rather short, a few chapters. Honestly, this kind of erotic writing is not something I usually do, and if it hadn't been for that oneshot I could build on, I'd probably never have written this. There is plot, I can't not do that, no matter how outside my comfort zone I am right now, and probably lots of angst along the way, but needless to say, this fic is highly NSFW. You've been warned. The first chapter is no exception.

****It was going to rain. The damp in the air was no mere sea fret, and the sky twisted in on itself like some black adder prepared to strike. Perhaps it was fitting a squall should announce her arrival at his door.

“Fight me.”

Underneath the surprise, the mild annoyance, she gleaned amusement from his gaze. The reaction only pissed her off more; there was something caught in her chest—vicious and desperate to get out. It had been stuck there for a while, and the murmuring sky seemed to remind her of that.

He stepped out of the bungalow and closed the door behind him. "Right now?"

"Yeah. Right now."

When he looked at her again, the humor was gone, and she could see a reflection of her own unrest in his eyes—the unshakable carryover from a lifetime of noise. He glanced up at the darkening sky, carefully rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Then he nodded. "Alright, then."

So they fought. Her muscles would protest in the morning, but in the moment it was as natural as breathing. The clamor of the sea drifted to a corner of her mind, all her focus on his movements and attacks and the steady flow of her breathing. Only when it became too dark to see their hands before them and the first drops of rain began to fall did he call an end to the spar. She didn't thank him. He didn't walk her home.

There was something oddly straight-forward about the whole thing, and when she returned the next evening—earlier, and without a storm in tow—they fought again without much preamble or smalltalk. Though she wouldn't admit it, she felt more relaxed fighting him now than she had back in their military days; it had been years since the war, and while most still referred to him as “captain,” or simply “sir,” he was no longer her superior officer.

On the third night, he broke the pattern and introduced a new rule. Or he broke one. She couldn't decide which.

"How long you want to keep doing this, Mikasa?"

"Getting tired already?" They were circling, both breathing hard.

"Hardly. I just have other things I need to do."

Mikasa broke stance, arms falling to her sides. "Didn't realize your schedule was so tight."

Gray eyes narrowed beneath dark fringe. "We would have stopped a while back if I'd thought you were wasting my time, brat." He carded a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his damp forehead. "I'm only asking what your plan is here."

Something akin to disappointment curled in her gut, threatening to inflame her face. A childish reaction, maybe, but there were ghosts hanging over her head and they only seemed to settle when she was either knocked out with the sleeping draught Hange had prescribed her or doing something violent. "Never had one."

A familiar dynamic hung between them, one which had been absent in their fights. It was the same old bond of duty that compelled her comrades to address him by an honorific he no longer possessed. She didn't like it.

An inscrutable expression crossed his face before he schooled it again. He turned abruptly and made for the bungalow. "Then come up with one and stop wasting my time."

"Don't pretend you aren't getting anything out of this," she called to his retreating back, blood still hot and pumping for a fight. "You're alone most of the time, living on the edge of a fucking cliff. Don't bullshit that you've got a life."

Levi's boots scuffed to a halt along the ragged earth. She'd expected anger, for her petty fighting words to entice him back into the game. Instead, he continued walking and disappeared back into his house without another word.

Their brief regime had ended it seemed. At least, that's what she'd thought until he cornered her in the town market two days later. She'd been hovering around a produce stall when he shoved a book into her hands. _The Anatomy of a Sailboat._ It was a guidebook.

"Are...are you building a _boat?"_

"No, brat, I've decided to take up knitting." He took an apple from the basket hanging at her arm and bit into it without chagrin.

Mikasa swatted the air, shaking her head at his incorrigibility. "A better question, _why_ are you showing me this?"

He jutted his head at the volume beneath her hand. "Figured if I could lead a squadron into battle or handle ODM gear I could put together a boat. I have most of the supplies. I'm good with my hands."

It wasn't that she doubted his competency, and if anyone could pick up something on the fly it would be Levi, but... "why a _boat?"_

The corner of his mouth twitched, gray eyes wry. "Why not?" He leaned forward into her space. "Look, I don't really care what you think, brat. Never have." Well, _that_ wasn't necessarily true. The history between them may not have always been amicable, but there had been a time when she'd thought a mutual respect and understanding had formed between her and the captain. "But if you want my help with sparring, I could use some help building this thing." He tapped the illustration of the sailboat on the book's cover. 

Mikasa snorted a laugh. Some foolish part of her had thought he'd come to her to _apologize_. “I didn't come to you to be trained. I can just ask Jean to spar with me."

Again, the wry expression. "And why don't you?"

 _Some things never change._ Still an arrogant prick. There wasn't anyone else who could spar at her level or intensity, let alone anyone who'd _want_ to; her comrades had all settled into the post-war life, some forgetting skills they'd learned in the corps completely.

She ignored him. "Again, it's not like you weren't getting something out of this."

"Well, it certainly broke the humdrum of my bullshit life on the edge of a cliff." While some things had remained very much the same, some had not, and it almost seemed as if Levi Ackerman had developed a sense of humor. "Or maybe I'm planning on getting the hell out of here and seeing what's on the other side of that shitty stretch of ocean."

"You're leaving?"

"Eventually."

"And you'll spar with me until then as long as I help you with your boat hobby?"

"Something like that."

She should have put her foot down, should have ignored the old bond of duty. _Boats?_ She knew _nothing_ about boats. The damned _ocean_ was a recent concept. Maybe it was boredom or frustration or just _loneliness,_ but Mikasa went against any better judgement she had left and visited him that weekend. The inside of his home was exactly how she'd imagined it—clean, functional in design though not austere. If anything, she'd deem it rather inviting. They sparred during the day, and at night they drank tea in his kitchen while he brought her up to speed on the plans for the boat, referencing a combination of well-organized notes and the instructions from the manual.

And she would deny it until her dying day, but Mikasa began to look forward to more than just the fighting; she had fully anticipated the venture to be a dull drag, but the boat was becoming more tangible, no longer a mere concept on a page. A modest sailboat, something easily managed but sturdy enough to weather a fickle tide. 

Spar, tea, plans, bed. Repeat. It was in this newfound routine, this _familiarity_ , that things changed. Perhaps it was in their shorthand, or in the wry turn of his mouth, or the fact that she’d begun to stay in the guest room with more frequency because it was convenient. It was all very convenient...

On one of those nights—when he was too engrossed in his work to notice her watch the orange glow from the hearth play upon the sharp angles of his face and jaw—Mikasa put a name to the fire in her gut. Her reason for seeking _him_ out of all people was so abruptly clear to her, she had to turn in for the night earlier than usual.

It was the way he walked that got her: the power in his stride, the confidence with which he moved, never arrogant. Each night she became more and more restless, and each night he looked more and more attractive. Something had been building—a pressure slowly rising and liable to burst. And perhaps it had been growing for a while now, well before she'd arrived at his doorstep with a storm at her back.

Levi could maintain the ignorant act all he wanted, but he had to have been just as aware of it as she. Perhaps even more so, and for longer. But hell if he was going to do something about it first—although, to be fair, she could understand his predicament; crass though he may be, Levi carried a certain amount of respect for the relationships between superior and subordinate, and she supposed that was honorable. But the war had ended a while ago...

And it wasn’t like it was _that_ great a divide, anyway. Especially in regards to age. At least, not anymore. She was now twenty-two, so that put him at, what, late thirties? _Maybe_ forty? Hard to tell with a face like his.

So, it all happened out of boredom then. Desperation, _maybe._ One night at the table, drinking tea. Mikasa was at the end of her rope. Because she _was_ twenty-two. And the war had ended a while ago.

“Do you wanna fuck?”

The sight—and sound—of Humanity’s Strongest spluttering his tea was as satisfying as it was anomalous, and Mikasa had to hide her mirth in her own cup.

It was a small display, more a rush of air through his nose and a shuffling of his papers in an attempt to rescue them from potential spillage. He wouldn’t look up at her, though, keeping his eyes trained on a knot in the table’s wood. Irritation was visible, even from his profile, his eyes flickering across the space between them as if searching for something. He opened his mouth to speak. Then he shut it again.

 _Flabbergasted_ may have been too strong a term, but this wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected. A thorough castigation, perhaps—or, in contrast, a blasé gesture of assent, but the latter had been in the back of her mind...

“I don’t think I need to outline for you how inappropriate that was,” he said at last, and his voice was even as always. Despite herself, she felt a pang of chagrin, as if the rules of rank still applied.

Nonetheless, Mikasa played it off with a shrug, rotating her cup upon the table in a display of insouciance. “Thought you appreciated candor.”

He did look at her then, though his eyes seemed to hover somewhere just above her head. “I also appreciate tact.”

Mikasa couldn’t stop herself from rolling her gaze to the ceiling. She wouldn’t press, of course; but she _knew,_ if only for a brief moment, he had considered it. “That’s fine, captain.” There was no honor in his title. She placed both hands on the table and rose from her chair in a deliberate motion. “Forgive me if I stepped over your _sensibilities._ I just thought, at this stage, the lines between us weren’t as...defined as they used to be.”

“They’re defined, Ackerman. They’re clearly defined.” His gaze was hard, unblinking, and if it hadn’t been for the slow rise and dip of his larynx, she would have severely rethought her actions. As it were, the need to leave the room pressed suddenly upon her.

“My bad,” she murmured, with not a trace of contrition to her tone. She took her time to refill her tea before turning to head for the guest room. Moral scruple demanded she leave his house entirely. But it was dark outside. “Night, then.”

Sleep wouldn’t come, she knew that much, but she turned down the bed nonetheless. Mikasa had kicked off her boots and was midway through the buttons of her blouse when the bedroom door flew open. While she supposed knocking was probably too courteous a practice for him, the entry itself was a little more forceful than was probably necessary—as if violence were the only way he could overpower his compunction.

The air was charged, alive. Neither spoke. Levi stood in the doorway for a few minutes, backlit by the dim embers still smoldering at the hearth. Then, with a stilted movement, he turned his head, offering his profile.

Even in the poor light Mikasa could make out the warring emotions raging across his face. His jaw was tense, eyes large and fixed upon some place unseeing—an almost manic expression.

Gray eyes returned to her, resolved now, and something warm twisted low in her belly. He stepped into the room fully, the door slamming closed behind him with a kick from his boot. For a moment, she was frozen in place as he strode toward her, the buttons of her blouse forgotten. She fought the urge to shrink inward, to retreat as he closed in. She trembled, breath caught in her lungs, heart stuttering.

Suddenly he seemed so alien to her, as if she’d never been this near to him during a spar, felt his heat or his body. But she hadn’t, really. Not like this. His hands were warm upon her hips, rough, and the breath she'd been holding released itself from her throat in a gasp as he pulled her to him. He was so close, his eyes two burning points of coal, riveting and consuming. Oh. They were actually doing this, then.

Levi’s nose pressed against her cheek. “This will only happen once,” he murmured, the words rumbling in his chest, reverberating against her hands.

“I know,” she replied, voice foreign to her own ears.

“I won’t be gentle.” There was an underlying confession there—that he didn’t know _how_ to be gentle.

“Good.”

He didn’t kiss her—it wasn’t a kiss—more some primal marking upon her neck, all hot flesh and teeth, and he never once went near her lips. His hands were everywhere, burning a path across her sides, her ass, her breasts. And he was right, he wasn’t gentle, and that was _more than good._

The blouse was ripped open completely with a firm yank, the remaining buttons flying free and scattering through the dark room. Heat pooled between her legs, her thighs rubbing together to appease the sudden ache.

Levi returned his mouth to her neck, working down to her chest, his strong hands pulling away the protection of her brassiere to assault her exposed breasts. A groan escaped her unbidden, her hands diving through his hair, gripping.

“How long,” he began, gripping her hips once more to spin her around so her back met his chest, “have you thought about this?” He peeled the shirt from her shoulders and cast it somewhere behind them. “Huh?’ he prompted, hand sliding over the curve of her ass to grope at the heat between her legs.

A responding moan was all he got. She arched against the hardened bulge in his pants, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. His merciless fingers slid further along her clothed sex, stifling her attempts to grind against him.

 _“Tch._ Is this it?” he growled, teeth sliding against her ear. “I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already so _compliant—“_

She wormed in his arms, elbow arching to connect with his sternum, driving him backward. He grunted in discomfort, hand clutching at his bruised pec. Mikasa followed through without hesitation, grasping his neck with both hands and throwing him onto the bed.

“I asked if you wanted to fuck,” she said, removing her brassiere without ceremony, “not shoot the breeze.”

Levi made no attempt to move from his supine position on the bed, his hooded gaze following her as she crossed to the side table. She pulled a blade from the drawer, watching the way his adam’s apple bobbed. She wondered if he knew how many weapons like this she'd hidden in various points around his home. Probably. He most likely knew where they all were, too.

“To avenge my blouse,” she purred, straddling his hips. He let her slice his shirt from end to collar before reacting. She nearly dropped the knife when he gripped her wrist, her momentary falter allowing him to wrench the weapon from her grasp and hurl it across the room. She heard it bury itself in the wall with a thud.

The world spun, and then she was the one on her back. The captain captured both her wrists and pinned them above her head, clamping her thighs together with his legs. He shamelessly assessed her exposed front, a very unusual, and very wicked-looking smirk pulling at his lips. “You have very pretty breasts.”

A blush heated her face, much to her chagrin, and she hoped it was too dark for him to see. “I told you to stop talking, asshat.”

He lowered his face to her chest, her traitorous nipples standing at attention as his breath ghosted across her skin. He hummed, the sound sending another arrow of heat straight to her loins. “You can’t take a compliment, can you?”

“You like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

Another huff of breath met her chest, and she realized he was laughing. He found her _amusing._

“Stop playing around and fuck me already.”

He dragged his tongue across a pert nipple, making her arch, and it was _all_ she could do not to make a noise. “You always were an impatient chit.”

“I _hate_ you.” The words lost their vigor, coming out a little too breathless as he laved his attention upon the other breast.

“Is that so?” he drawled, transitioning both of her wrists to one hand, using the free one to undo her belt. “You proposition every person you hate, Ackerman?” His adroit fingers wormed their way beneath her smallclothes, searching.

Another curse rested on the tip of her tongue, but she could only bite her lip as he dipped his index into her silken heat.

“Yeah, I can feel how much you hate me,” he scoffed, sliding another finger inside.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snipped. “You’re a tool. I’m using you as one.”

Again, that crooked smirk, and no doubt he could feel how she convulsed around his fingers. He freed her wrists, rearing back to pull her pants from her legs, taking her underwear with them.

She reached for his belt but he smacked her hand away, rising from the bed to divest himself of his ruined shirt. “We’re both tools, Mikasa,” he said, regarding her through dark fringe as he undid his pants.

The use of her name inspired a different sensation in her. It was sobering. That annoyed her. She attempted to hide any reaction by raking her eyes down his now entirely nude form. Anticipation curled in her gut, and she rose to her elbows as he slunk up the bed towards her.

Then his hand secured around her ankle.

Flipping her onto all fours, Levi grasped her hips and pulled her to him. She made a perfunctory attempt to crawl away, but he only hauled her back. She could feel his erection press against the back of her thigh.

“You wanted me to fuck you. You didn’t specify how.” One of his hands left her hip, and she bit her lip again as the tip of him maneuvered between her thighs. “You’ll tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice softer, and it was part command, part question. Again, she felt sobered.

“Just hurry up,” she growled, pressing backwards desperately.

He pressed forward, but not far enough. Both of his hands had returned to her hips, holding her in place and preventing her from pushing back. “Tell me what you want.”

She turned her face to glare back at him, puffing at the strands of dark hair obscuring her face. “I want you to stop being a jackass.”

 _“Tch.”_ He slammed into her fully, the movement lurching her forward and snapping her head to attention. She hissed with discomfort at the initial intrusion, willing herself to relax around him. After a moment, he withdrew once more to the tip, only to surge forward again, this time deliciously slow.

Mikasa tossed her head back, jaw slackening at the sensation of him moving inside her. She hated the protracted pace now. “Go faster.”

He withdrew even slower.

 _“_ Goddammit _,_ fucking _move.”_ Her voice was humiliating to her own ears, far too desperate, but she could no longer bring herself to temper it.

“Beg,” he commanded. She groaned, aroused and angry. He grabbed a fistful of her hair. _“Beg_ for it, brat.”

_“Fuck you.”_

“You are.”

His hips rolled forward, length sliding deeper and then halting once again. Mikasa pressed back against him. “You’re a son of a bitch,” she snarled, words muffled by a mix of hair and the sheets.

“Whore might be more accurate,” he quipped, hips snapping forward again. “Fucking beg, Ackerman. I can keep this up.” He repeated the torturous slide to prove his point, but he was speaking through his teeth.

Still, she remained mum, pressing against him and ignoring the stinging pain from his grip in her hair. She flexed her inner muscles, mentally cheering at the stuttering breath he gave. He was momentarily distracted by the sensation, affording her enough time to twist out of his grip and force him away from her.

The tables turned in a blink, her hands once more around his throat as she straddled him. He bared his teeth, chest heaving.

“When’s the last time someone had you on your back, shorty?” She shifted one hand to his jaw, the other fending off his attempts to grope her breasts. “You’ve gotten too comfortable in your impunity, I think. No one can touch _humanity’s strongest.”_

A stifled grunt left him as she slowly slid her sex along the length of his member. His fingers dug into her hips, bruising, his jaw tensing as her folds curved around him.

“I can see right through you,” she continued, voice pitched slightly higher than before. “They say we’re alike. Takes one to know one, I suppose.” Her head flew back at the sensation of her clit grazing along him, and she pressed a hand against the center of his chest to aid the angle.

Levi gave another grunt, this one not as restrained, his eyes fluttering closed with a breathy _“fuck.”_

“A few weeks ago,” she breathed, “it’s the way you fucking walk.”

“Eh?” His brow furrowed, eyes remaining shut.

“That’s the first time I thought about fucking you.” She reached between them and angled him to her. They gasped together as she sheathed him in one swift motion. “And you stopped wearing that _fucking_ cravat—”

He rolled his hips to meet her, and her mouth fell open in a silent cry. She moved against him, lifting and falling, feeling his girth. It took her a moment, but she regained herself.

“You stopped wearing it, and you seemed so different, and I started to think about what it would be like…” Her mouth gaped again, nails digging into his chest. “...what it would feel like... _fuck..._ oh fuck…”

Both hands rested on his chest, her head thrown back in rapture as she continued to ride him. Levi was watching her now, breath uneven and short. She didn’t stop him this time from reaching along her belly to palm at her breasts, but pressed herself into his hand. He twisted her nipple—hard—and she _keened._

Suddenly, she was falling, rolling from the bed to tumble onto the floor. There was nothing graceful about it, and it left her momentarily disoriented. He’d _shoved her_. The bastard loomed above her once again, hiking her leg above his shoulder and sliding his cock home.

“Is this what you thought about?” His voice was dark, unrecognizable beside her ear. She shuddered, clenching around him involuntarily. “Did you think about me fucking you like this?”

There was nothing slow about his movements this time, as he made good on his promise of renouncing tenderness.

 _“Fuck,_ you feel good,” he groaned, teeth dragging against the side of her neck.

Mikasa threaded her fingers through his hair, the gesture implying intimacy. Then she gripped the dark strands and wrenched his head back, exposing his neck to her. She dragged her tongue from the base of his jugular to his chin, earning a guttural moan.

His hand sought her own neck, his thumb pressing against her jaw and twisting her face away. “You fuck like you fight.”

They were moving with abandon now, the room filling with the chorus of ragged breath and the crude sounds of flesh against flesh. Mikasa was sure she’d never made this much noise in her life, her voice cracking at the end—it was freeing, but partly a mere wile to finish him off; he would come and she would regain the upper hand, and she would have _won._

He had his own shifts and ploys—his mouth at her jaw whispering all sorts of lickerish things. Mikasa lifted a hand above her to brace against the wall as he hammered into her.

The angle, his voice in her ear, was a powerful combination and she could feel herself quicken. The fire of competition burned in her belly, however, and she swatted away his hand from her breasts. A brief scuffle ensued, ending with him clamping both her hands above her head and leering down at her in victory.

 _“Levi,”_ she moaned, dragging out the syllables.

The look on his face faltered, breath stuttering in his throat, and she _knew_ she had him. She repeated his name, the break in her voice only partly affected. She focused on his painful grip on her wrists, anything to distract from the precipice looming ever closer.

 _“Fuck,”_ he gasped, hips faltering, movements becoming sloppy. She arched against him, once more giving him his name against his neck. His right hand flew away from her wrist, slamming down beside her shoulder as he braced himself.

Mikasa captured his jaw to watch his face, to watch him come. She let his head fall to the crook of her shoulder, listened to him gasp for air. Then he rolled away from her, boneless and defeated.

A smirk affixed itself to Mikasa’s lips as she observed her beaten captain. She rose to her feet and returned to the bed, adjusting the ravaged sheets and pillows before lying down. The rattle of a belt prompted her eyes to him, and she watched shamelessly as he dressed himself. He kept his eyes on his task. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“Sorry about the shirt,” she said. She wasn’t sorry.

“An eye for an eye.” He gathered the shredded garment, slinging it over his shoulder. He turned to leave without another word. He stopped before the door, head turning slightly. “And if you must know, the new uniforms.”

“Sorry?”

“It was probably before that, but that’s when I couldn’t ignore it.”

Oh.

“Black looks good on you.” And with that he whipped open the door and left.

The uniforms. She remembered the first day they’d issued the black livery, remembered the unanimous appreciation throughout the regiment for the new attire. That had been...a while ago.

A jagged spark of lightning filled the room with a flash of white, followed swiftly by the rolling pound of thunder. Mikasa caught sight of her blade protruding from the far wall just as the first pats of rain began to fall against the window.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. So, kinda clobbered together a plot to fit around that sex scene I already had written. We'll see how this thing goes. Anywho, thoughts are always appreciated. See ya in chapter 2...


	2. Dream Deferred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens to a dream deferred?  
> Does it dry up  
> like a raisin in the sun?  
> Or fester like a sore—  
> And then run?  
> Does it stink like rotten meat?  
> Or crust and sugar over—  
> like a syrupy sweet?  
> Maybe it just sags  
> like a heavy load.  
> Or does it explode?  
> -Langston Hughes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, a century later, here's your chapter 2. Did I mention I started a new job? It's great but _incredibly_ busy. Then life happened and I maaay have forgotten about this story for a second. But I'm back and the bug has bitten me again. Hard.
> 
> Also, I know absolutely nothing about boats, so I literally copied and pasted from this manual online. I've included the link in the end notes (for those curious/worried about the great and terrible plagarism). Onwards.

Mikasa wasn’t too proud to admit she was hiding.

Had she been a different woman, with a different life and a different past, such a dalliance wouldn’t have phased her. It wasn’t as if the stipulations of superior and subordinate still stood.

And _yet..._ she hadn’t seen her former captain for almost two days.

Awkward as she felt in the honest light of morning, Mikasa felt no shame _._ It had been a release in more ways than one. But she’d have been a fool to deny that their actions wouldn’t change their relationship going forward, however strange and undefined a relationship it was.

An opportunity to escape her thoughts arrived in the form of Hange, when her former commander returned from a long trip to the capital. The scientist traveled often, keeping an ear to the ground and eyes on the new heads in power. An admirable venture, to say the least, especially for someone who’d seen their fill of government conspiracies to last a lifetime.

Hange invited her for tea one afternoon, giving her a legitimate excuse for missing another day of sparring with Levi. It didn’t take long for the conversation to feature the man himself, much to Mikasa’s chagrin. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Hange already knew about his boat, but it did.

“Who do you think gave him the book for it?” The scientist grimaced over a mortar of rather pungent valerian root. “In fact, we had a little bet going.”

“A bet.”

“Of sorts.” Hange uncorked a bottle of clear liquid and added it to the powdered root, mixing the concoction into a sticky paste. “I told him the day he sailed off into the sunset was the day I cut my hair off. All of it. A close shave.”

Nothing like a challenge to get Levi going, however droll. “And if he doesn’t? What do you get out of it?”

“Gloating rights.”

The pong of the valerian was starting to make Mikasa nauseated. The efficacy of Hange’s sleep tonics almost made the smell worth it. Almost—there wasn’t anything to be done about the nightmares. “You don’t think he can do it?” She opened one of the windows in the cramped kitchen.

“No, that’s not it. The man could probably learn how to fly to the moon if he so wished.” Hange looked up and blinked one hazel eye. Hunched over the workstation, the former squad leader looked like some kind of bird—a hawk with an eyepatch. “I suppose it’s just difficult to think about losing another friend.”

Silence stretched, a companionable one, punctuated by the rhythmic scrape of Hange’s pestle. It was in these moments, in the heavy quiet, when Mikasa missed their laughter—Armin’s quiet chortle or the boisterous cackles from Eren. She would imagine their presence in the scene and envision what they’d be doing.

The world outside the window was strange to her. Even from town the roar of the ocean could be heard, and the air was heavy with salt. The ever present screech of the gulls and other sea birds made her feel like she’d fallen through time and landed in a different world. Eren would have loved the sea, and Armin the creatures in it.

“I want to run something by you,” Hange spoke, breaking the reverie. “There are several wealthy families that would love to have you as head of their personal guard.”

“Are you offering me a job?” The thought of returning to the walls and all the history there wasn’t the most appealing to Mikasa. Then there was her prejudice for the old families and their money.

Perhaps the scientist felt bad for her; the government’s stipend covered her basic living needs—their way of a thank you for her _service to humanity—_ but if there was one thing she would lament about this post-war life it would be the abundance of time she had on her hands.

“Now, I know how you feel about politics and the rich families in the capital, but those people are the only reason why our state didn’t fall into complete anarchy. Hell, we’d be a junta now if it weren’t for those with their hands in the right pockets. Deep pockets.” Hange tapped the pestle against the rim of the mortar, dislodging wet clumps of valerian root.

“What’s to say things won’t fall apart still?”

“Times are changing.” A shrug. “I’ve spent enough time visiting the cities between here and Old Sina to see those changes. The lines between towns are becoming more defined, and the towns themselves expanding. There’s talk about a federation back in the capital, but that will take time. And money.” Hange transferred the paste into a bowl, stirring in more of the clear liquid. The smell was abhorrent.

“And how do I fit in with all this change?”

The scientist beamed, pouring the concoction into a small, brown bottle before corking it. “Asks the girl worth one hundred soldiers.”

Mikasa took the proffered bottle. “You want me to play poster child?”

Hange scoffed. “Easy, now. You and I know you’re far more than that. However, it’d be naïve to ignore whatever caché that title brings.” The hawk-eye probed, mouth twitching into a smile. “And they didn’t call you that for nothing.”

Mikasa stared at her warped reflection in the glass bottle, at the glaring set of onyx eyes and the dark curtain of hair framing her face. She needed to cut it. A far distant memory echoed in the back of her mind of Eren’s hand in her tresses, clucking about the liability in its length. “People love a hero.” She pocketed the tonic.

 

* * *

 

Because she was a coward, Mikasa opted to take a more circuitous route to Levi’s, avoiding the main road.

An irksome sense of obligation, which went beyond the damn boat, was what kept her on the path. That, and a small voice in the back of her mind that laughed at her inane behavior and chanted _coward, coward, coward._ The walk gave her more time to plan out exactly what she was going to say when he opened the door. Assuming he was home. Maybe he wouldn’t be home...

He was home—outside, in fact, hard at work sanding down a stave panel. Mikasa tried desperately to recall her carefully-rehearsed script, which somehow relied heavily on him opening the front door and was now complicated thanks to his presence on the front lawn.

“I thought it’d be at least three days,” Levi called, not looking up from the plank. “I’m surprised.”

Foolish of her to assume he hadn’t noticed her arrival. His indifference was forced, but irritated her nonetheless. “Yes, you seem utterly flabbergasted.”

He glanced up from his work, eyes a startling wannish-blue in the sunlight. “What’s that?” He nodded at the barbiturate clasped in her hand.

“Poison.”

“Great.” His mouth did an odd quirk before settling again. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, neither willing to be the first to relent.

Finally, Mikasa pivoted and made for the front door. She left her boots at the steps. Again she tried to summon whatever hackneyed excuse she’d written in her head on the way over, buying herself time as she strode to the kitchen. When she turned back, he had entered the foray. “I wasn’t avoiding you, if that’s what you were thinking,” she said. Lied. “Hange offered me a job, so I’ve been a bit busy.”

Levi took his time coming to the kitchen, pausing to lean against the archway. He resembled a cat, his keen, gray eyes giving nothing away as he regarded her.

“I don’t think this needs to change anything.” She was pacing the cramped kitchen now, despite the small voice telling her to do otherwise. She kept the small dining table between them. “I think we both had some steam to let off, and we did so.” Mikasa put her back to the counter, planting her hands in the pockets of her skirt to keep from fidgeting. She _never_ fidgeted. “So that’s that. I’ve said my bit. We can still finish the boat. And spar.” She clamped down on her tongue and its ungovernable prattle.

If only he would stop _looking_ at her like that.

And much like a cat, Levi pried himself from the entryway and slunk toward her. She refused to move, watching him skirt around the table, holding her ground even when he came to stand right before her. Gray eyes steady on her, Levi opened one of the cupboards near her head and produced a small satchel of tea. “So that’s that, huh?”

What did that mean? Was he mocking her? She could smell him this close. “You said it would only happen once.” Well, now she sounded hackneyed _and_ petulant.

Again, that small twist of the mouth. “Maybe.” He opened the cupboard on the other side of her head. She would have moved out of his way had he not been standing so _close._ “What do you want?” 

“What?”

“I said,” he pulled a teacup from its shelf, “what do you want?”

It was the same tone he’d whispered into her ear that night, and the memory of him made her belly warm. She felt childish, unsure of herself, even though she _really_ _did want this._ He was waiting, smug beneath that impervious mask. He thought he had her pinned.

Mikasa felt the burn of competition. Pushing away from the counter, she stepped into his space—felt his breath halt, witnessed the slight adjustment of his head. “We both know what I want. _You’re_ the one who’s changing his mind.” There were papers on the kitchen table, and she saw an escape, letting her shoulder brush his as she passed. “So, I think the question is, what do _you_ want?”

 _Anatomy of a Sailboat_ gleamed up at Mikasa in plain, white typeface. She picked up the book and opened it to a random page, landing on a chapter about “interior joinerwork,” which was perhaps the dullest phrase she’d ever read but would serve its purpose in her task of feigning aloofness.

The muted clink of a teacup met her ears. The fine hairs on her neck rose. She turned a page, eyes scanning but not reading the words. He was at her shoulder now, her elbow brushing his sternum when she turned another page. His hand skirted around her and took hold of the book, thumb clamping down the middle—he didn’t take it from her, merely flipped the pages and placed it back in her hands. “We’re not there yet. Here’s what you missed.” He pointed at the sketch taking up the entirety of the left page.

He’d begun process on the hull in her brief absence, apparently. She figured as much, though his rate of efficiency was, nonetheless, impressive. _“Deck framing,”_ she read, ignoring the warmth of his breath on her collar. “Is that what you were working on outside?”

“Part of it.” His forehead dipped to her shoulder, hand hovering over but not quite touching her lower back.

“I heard about your bet.” She leaned into his hand. “Hange seems pretty convinced this ship won’t sail.”

A huff of breath against her shoulder. “This is the same person who liked to name Titans and keep them as pets.”

Mikasa laughed this time, the sound trailing into a sigh as he slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt and over the bare skin of her sides. She cleared her throat, stabbing a random paragraph on the page with her index and reading, “ _the deck beams must be of good size and strongly connected to the hull if they are to contribute the strength required of them._ Sometimes this all reminds me of ODM gear.”

A nod. “Keep reading,” he murmured against her neck.

Despite herself, she did. The words held no meaning, drifting through one ear and out the other. Nearly all her attention was held by his calloused hands drifting over her hips, one slipping into her right pocket to remove the bottle of valerian. He placed it on the table. _“...the latter aspect is important in all boats designed to be decked, especially in sailboats...”_ She pushed her ass into his hands, sighing as his fingers curved around the supple flesh.

His nose drifted up the back of her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and she focused very hard on keeping her voice level. Those strong fingers continued their brazen climb up her thighs, catching the fabric of her skirt and dragging it to her hips. “Does it say what type of wood?” His voice gave away nothing. Conversational.

Mikasa bit her lip, smiling as she pressed against the bulge growing behind her. “It...uh...it depends. Cedar or sometimes—“ A subtle gasp stole from her mouth as his index slid between her legs to graze across her sex. He didn’t linger, moving away from where she wanted him.

“Or?” Goddamn his smug tone.

Again he traced along her heat, and she uttered a breathless _“pine,”_ pressing back in search of his evasive fingers.

“Keep reading, Mikasa,” and his voice was low, stern against her shoulder. She shivered. She continued to read.

The page never seemed to end, the words a blur of useless information listing the components of a _fucking_ hull _._ Most of the terminology she didn’t even understand. It was a battle to keep the waver from her voice, to not arch into his firm body as he slowly undid her with clever fingers and a wicked, wicked mouth.

_“...as hulls increase in size, an additional stiffening member, called a shelf, or deck shelf, is fitted on each side of the boat…”_

Levi traced the line of her underwear, curving his fingers against her hip bones and hooking beneath the fabric.

_“...in small craft, screws are used as fastenings, but in larger vessels through-bolts are always used...”_

His hands slid over the flare of her hips, pulling her underwear down to the middle of her thighs. Mikasa managed to deliver a steady paragraph of the manual. She couldn’t resist rolling her hips back to him. He smiled against her neck.

_“...the inner edges may be left square, but the outer edges should be planed to fit snugly against the clamps and—”_

Again the words were stolen from her, pinched off in her throat and tapering into a whimper as Levi—without any preamble—slid his index finger inside her.

He was still smirking, but his tone remained impassive. “And?” His finger lay unmoving, waiting, and when she tried to writhe against him he pressed her against the table with his hips, holding her still. “Keep reading.”

Why she did as he bade flummoxed her as much as it peeved her. Was she so tractable? So desperate? She felt out of character, out of control.

And she _liked_ it.

As she read, Levi began to slowly work his finger, sliding the digit in and out of her slick warmth at a wretchedly slow rate. She so much as moved or hesitated in her narrative and he would halt his ministrations. _Bastard._

_“...when the clamp and shelf are bolted together, they form a single angle-shaped member having great strength and stiffness...”_

A second finger, his middle, joined the game. Her voice notably rose in pitch, intonation becoming airy in a vain attempt to indicate detachment.

 _“...the shelves must be fitted with a pitch corresponding to the camber of the deck beams so that the beams will—_ ah, fuck!” Her torso pitched forward as he found her clit. Her hand stamped down upon the open manual, bracing as she rocked herself upon his fingers without shame. This is what he wanted. To make her unravel in his hands, to witness her undoing.

With a shaky exhale, Mikasa righted herself and resumed the manual.

 _“...the two sides should be fastened together at the ends of the boat. At the bow this is done with a...with a...”_ She paused, savoring the burning knot of tension twisting tighter in her lower belly as Levi continued to languidly massage his two fingers inside of her, periodically tracing her tender bundle of nerves with the index of his other hand. _“...at the bow this is done with a breasthook, which is a knee of sorts fitted between the shelves and bolted to—”_ She managed to clamp down on the moan before it escaped.

“Didn’t catch that,” Levi murmured, teeth grazing along the back of her shoulder.

“Three fingers,” she whined. “Three fingers, and I’ll keep reading.”

“Are you bargaining?” he scoffed, but added his a third finger anyway. Mikasa pushed back on his hand, no longer caring for the stoic act and just desperate for release. She felt his teeth graze the shell of her ear. “You’re fucking _dripping.”_

Mikasa’s body jolted again, book forgotten as she braced her hands upon the table, legs spread as she fucked herself on his fingers. “You want me to beg, or something?” She probably would, too, dammit.

“For what? Seems like you’re already getting it.”

“Just fuck me already.”

 _“Tch._ I plan too, but I’m gonna make you come first.” A pause, and then, “you didn’t last time.”

Mikasa found the motivation within her to roll her eyes. Then she realized he couldn’t see her face and spat, “don’t pretend this is about me.”

He halted.

Hell, maybe she really would beg, because he had her _right_ on the edge. She could have cried when he removed his fingers from her. He pulled away completely, her skirt falling back into place and concealing the lewd display of her underwear bunched about her thighs.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he said, grabbing her hips to turn her around, hand leaving a damp mark on her clothes. She nearly rebutted his statement, mouth forming the words, but then he was on his knees before her, hands once again diving beneath her skirt.

“What...are you doing?”

“Making it about you.” Levi bunched up the ends of her skirt and handed it to her. She took it, despite herself. His fingers gripping her thighs. He noted her expression, and this time it was he rolling his eyes. “Only you could look gloomy while someone’s eating you out.”

This gave her the oddest urge to grin. She covered with, “you aren’t eating yet.”

 _There._ The little twitch in his mouth that appeared before he could school it—the faintest quiver of his upper lip, curving like a flash at the corner before going neutral again. He raised his gray eyes to her, never breaking her gaze as he leaned forward and kissed the inside of her thigh. A blush warmed her face and chest, but she resisted the urge to look away from him. His hands slid across her hips, fingers splaying to her sex and opening her to him.

Mikasa let her head fall back as he dragged the flat of his tongue across her. His middle and index found their way inside her again—he kept them there, finding a point within that made her gasp, applying pressure...

Little breathy sighs escaped her, and he picked up his tempo, pulling one foot free from her fallen panties and hiking her leg over his shoulder. She gripped the edge of the table with one hand to keep herself from collapsing into a trembling heap, the other white-knuckling her skirt.

 _“Fuck,_ I’m so close,” she mewled. Levi hummed against her sex, fingers curling slightly as if he knew about that burning knot coiling ever tighter within her and sought to coax it forth. The sensation twisted and throbbed, pulling her existence down to one igneous point that danced upon the feel of his fingers and the wet buss of his mouth.

The coil snapped, her head wrenching back as she came tumbling off the edge in silent rapture. She shook and writhed, nearly collapsing to her feet before he caught her around the waist and hauled her to him.

Mikasa’s entire body shook, limbs trembling as they would in anticipation of a fight. She was dazed, clinging to him, too weak to wrench his belt apart. Giving up, she turned to face the table and brace upon its surface. His buckle clattered behind her, zipper opening in quick succession. His hands returned to her hips, once more hoisting her skirt upwards.

There was no hesitation—he entered her quickly, easily, and she practically growled in satisfaction, arching across the table to improve the angle. His breath was hot and ragged against her skin.

“Not gonna fucking last,” he ground through his teeth.

She bent further until her chest lay flat against the manual, the tilt making her clench around him. He gasped as she pushed back to meet him. The table trembled beneath them, sloshing the valerian around in its bottle and sending a few loose papers fluttering to the floor.

“My hair,” she rasped, “pull my hair.”

He did, knotting his hand through the thick strands and turning her head. He made a short sound, caught between a moan and a chuckle. “You really do like it rough, don’t you.”

“So do you.”

Another chuckle-moan. “Sometimes.”

She would revisit his answer later—it would reappear in her thoughts, and she would analyze what he’d meant by it—but then he was coming, and she could only arch against him and meet his thrusts.

They remained there for a few moments, breaths broken, still connected, his forehead resting against her shoulder blade.

“Were you even listening to the instructions?” Mikasa panted.

Levi pulled away from her and tucked himself back into his trousers, grimacing at the mess of it all. “Were you?”

“Hange just might win that bet.”

“Shitty brat. You enjoyed it.”

“The sex, sure.” She stabbed her finger against the book a few times. “But this is boring as all hell.”

“Which is why I thought you might find reading it like this more enjoyable.” He carded a hand through his hair, and she was momentarily distracted by the improved view of his physiognomy.

“How considerate of you.”

“I think we can agree I was being _very_ considerate.” He made to refasten his belt, paused, then grimaced again. “I need to shower.”

It was suddenly awkward, as if their impromptu fuck across his kitchen table had done nothing to break whatever tension remained between them. Rather than dash to bathe, however, Levi pulled out a second cup from the cabinet and resumed his tea project.

A sobering sensation passed over her, as if she’d been awoken from sleep before she was ready by a startling sound. If she allowed it, she could blur the scene in her mind and refashion it as something close to domestic, like they were just two people in a kitchen waiting for tea.

But his figure was one she was too familiar with, his back permanently emblazoned with the Wings of Freedom in her mind’s eye. The undercut shave of his hair was the same as the day she’d met him, and therefore another relic of a time long past

So that’s what they were—relics. Too lucky to beat and too cursed to die.

Mikasa spun around to face the table again, confronted by the horrifying probability that she might become emotional. She read over the papers before her to distract from the tightness in her throat, but every other letter in every other word spelled out _their_ names, and she was helpless to avoid picturing their faces.

“So, you’re working for shitty-glasses?”

The low timbre of his voice made her start, though he’d spoken softly. “No, it was just a job offer. And I’d be working alongside Hange.” The kettle began to whistle, and she waited until he’d poured the water over the tea. The lump in her throat was gone. “I’d be reporting into one of the families. Maybe doing some security work.”

He sent a rush of derisive air through his teeth. “Why would you want to work for those people?” A steaming cup of black tea appeared beside her right elbow. She took it. “I thought you received a stipend or something.”

“It’s not about the money.” She peered at him above the rim of her cup, observing his profile. “And I’m still thinking about it, anyway.” Gray eyes flicked to her. She averted her gaze back to the tea.

“I suppose everything else fails to be fulfilling when you come from butchering Titans for a living.”

She almost made a crack about the sex, but jokes with Levi felt odd without the vehicle of insult beneath them. “Yeah, something like that,” and then, before the conversation could sag again, “do you plan on going East when you get the boat done?”

Teacup held midway to his mouth, he regarded her with mild surprise. She’d never inquired over his long term plans before. He shrugged, eyes falling to the manual between them. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

The somber feeling was back. She could see it in his face, too. “Guess we both have a course to plan.”

There was a time when such a prospect would have excited her, when her blood was fueled by rage and the sheer resolve to survive another day. But she hardly recognized the woman she’d become, blinded as she was by her current acedia. And the man beside her, so familiar yet newly acquainted, appeared just as lost.

She cleared her throat and gestured between them, clutching the minute teacup like a shield. “So, we’re good, then. This is...settled.” Whatever _this_ was.

Levi arched a thin brow—because he could never just answer a goddamned question. Then he nodded and finished the dregs of his tea. “Just don’t rush into anything.”

“Pardon?”

“The job. I know you’re not used to being your own man, but trust me when I say no job is better than a shitty one.” He refilled his tea, putting space between them. “Especially if you’re free.”

He didn’t wait to discuss further, making his exit and heading, presumably, to a shower. She was made aware of the damp that had cooled and become sticky between her thighs. Joining him was out of the question, and she wasn’t entirely sure she even wanted to do that—just a bit _too_ domestic. Instead, she sipped the remnants of her tea, listening to the water sounds in the other room. Then she left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, just copied and pasted the boat manual material. Who knew it would work so well for a sex scene? I mean, call me childish, but a line like "a single angle-shaped member having great strength and stiffness" is totally boat-porn material. That's in the actual manual! No joke! Anyway, let me know your thoughts. More chapters to come...
> 
> http://library.uniteddiversity.coop/Transport/Boat_Building_Manual.pdf


	3. No Second Troy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could have made her peaceful with a mind   
> That nobleness made simple as a fire,   
> With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind   
> That is not natural in an age like this,   
> Being high and solitary and most stern?   
> Why, what could she have done, being what she is?   
> Was there another Troy for her to burn?  
> -Yeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came along a lot quicker than I thought it would. Probably because I'd had a good chunk of this scene already pre-written in one of those 3am, random-scene-that-I'll-add-somewhere writing episodes. Still, it turned out much differently than planned. All good, though. Also, ran through this with my wide-toothed editing comb, but undoubtedly missed a few things. Unbeta'd, y'all.
> 
> As always, don't show this to your mother-in-law. #nsfw

 

His bedroom door was open ajar, the mirror visible where it stood propped in the corner. Odd, she thought, for a man like him to have a mirror, especially one as large. Arrogant Levi might be, but vanity wasn’t a vice she associated with him…

Perhaps the vain one was she, as the person whose face Mikasa was currently scrutinizing was her own. But it had been startling to turn her head and find herself confronted by her own image. By the both of them; his head was turned, buried in her neck, his bare shoulders tense and rolling with the fluid movement of his back. She dared another look at her own face, saw the gentle way her jaw slackened as he surged into her. She felt disassociated from herself, like she was watching another woman.

Levi’s voice rumbled against her jaw, pulling her away from the reflected reality. “Are you thinking about him right now?”

She blinked up at him, utterly bemused, and yet knowing he spoke of Eren. “What?”

“Do you let your boy fuck you like this?”

Her mouth parted again, anger stifling her words, but there was an undeniable surge in her belly and she tightened around him. 

“I bet he’d like to,” he continued, grasping her jaw and bringing her eyes to his. “Bet he’s thought about it, even if he doesn’t give you the time of day.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She screwed her eyes shut and arched against him.

“Did you fuck him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Mikasa opened her eyes again, defiant. “That would bother you, wouldn’t it?”

Levi sneered, and the look was carnal in its viciousness. “Yeah, sure, but don’t think for a second it would  _ threaten  _ me.” He moved his hand from her jaw to grasp the back of her knee, pushing her leg higher against his side. The new angle welcomed him deeper inside her, making them groan in unison.

_ “Liar,”  _ she spat.

“What’s there to lie about?” He slowed his pace and smirked at the needy whine she gave. “Do you think he could fuck you like this?”

“Shut the  _ hell _ up,” she groaned.

“Honestly, I don’t think he’d last a minute with you.”

Another moan tore from her throat. 

“You are, you’re thinking about him.”

“Yeah,” she hissed, teeth bared, sardonic. “Now I am.”

Levi snarled and pulled away from her, pulled out of her, and she gasped at the sudden loss of contact. He flipped her onto all fours and slammed back into her, fingers gripping her hips and waist, no longer gentle.

“How do you think he’d react if he found out how you like it? Huh?” He grasped a handful of her hair, making her cry out and press deeper into him. Mikasa’s gaze found the mirror again, and she saw him turn his face to the ceiling, his pale neck stretching. He was hammering into her now, abdomen taught and teeth gritted. “Admit it, he couldn’t make you come like I can.”

She was white-knuckling the arm of the couch, utterly wanton as she pushed her ass back to meet him. It was both disturbing and erotic to see herself so uninhibited.

“Say my name.”

“Fuck you.”

Levi grunted a laugh, releasing her hair to strike across the rounded swell of her buttocks, making her gasp.  _ “Say my name.” _

She was stubborn, and yet  _ so  _ close. He reached around her and tapped the pad of his forefinger against her clit.  _ “Ah!  _ God, just like that,” she cried, knees widening and back arching, taking him deeper.

_ “My name.” _

And then, just as the tightening swells of her climax took her, his image changed in the mirror, the pale hands becoming tan, the ebony hair shifting to a lighter brown and parting to reveal a pair of fierce green eyes

* * *

 

Mikasa awoke to a pillow ruched under her hips and her hand between her thighs. The vestiges of her orgasm shuddered through her, coating her fingers. She grunted in dismay, the sound half a sob. The light coming through the window changed from a pale gray to a dawning blue in the time it took her to settle her breathing.

It hadn’t been the first dream she’d had of Eren since his death. More often they were memories, and she always awoke in a brief, blissful state of forgetting. But  _ this… _

Her morning sorrow turned to anger—a much more manageable emotion—and she yanked her underwear back over her ass and threw aside the bedding. The disgust for herself mired with the intense loathing she felt rising for  _ him. _

The day appeared to stay in a perpetual gray state, the thick gathering of nimbus clouds like some lording presence of doom. Another storm, most likely. Despite her current temperament, Mikasa found herself rushing her morning routine and heading for Levi’s house earlier than usual. He definitely noted her clipped demeanor, however, thin brows twitching above the rim of his teacup. He played indifferent, always did, and she wanted to yell at him, to laugh and say she could see right through his bluff, that he didn’t fool her.

Arrogant, but not impervious.

“You know, I don’t need your help every day,” he began, tone bland. “Don’t feel like you have to go out of your way just to help me with some shitty boat.”

It was in moments like this when Armin, had he still been around, would have sucked in a long, audible breath as if tensing for Mikasa’s next words. Because he  _ knew  _ her and he  _ knew  _ how incredibly, helplessly  _ petty  _ she could be should she choose. That little breath was half preparation, half warning to her.  _ Cool it.  _ Or more apt,  _ just wait.  _ Because if she had, perhaps the diffidence in Levi’s words could have been discerned beneath their gruff delivery.

But she didn’t wait. And Armin wasn’t here, so she ignored his phantom breath. “If you want me gone,  _ captain,  _ you should just say so.”

Levi gave his own version of the Armin Inhale. “I don’t. I’m here to fight you and pay you for your time.”

He seemed to realize his poor choice of wording, if the sharp down-quirk of his mouth was anything to go by. Despite this, Mikasa was, nonetheless, an opportunist. “Pay me for my  _ time?” _

“Settle down, I didn’t mean it that way.”

The nightmare from last night still had her in its grip and she was already spoiling for a fight, so Mikasa did not  _ settle down.  _ “No, I think you did. But don’t forget  _ I  _ was the one who propositioned you first.”

A sharp, mirthless laugh escaped him, the nearest thing to a grin Mikasa had ever seen from her captain stretching itself across his mouth. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” He studied the dregs of his tea, that odd quirk still possessing his mouth. Then he shook his head and snorted, appearing to want to say something further before deciding otherwise and walking to the kitchen.

Mikasa was left dumbstruck by the display. He had effectively shut down her jousting match in a way that left her, once again, feeling very much like a child.

_ Because you are. An indignant, reckless child. _

The day resumed, the majority of it consumed with construction on the boat and ending with their customary spar just as twilight set in. Levi had kept an eye on the foreboding clouds throughout the day, periodically mumbling something about “shitty-ass weather” or “dumb, fucking clouds.” The sky didn’t appear to be worsening, but Levi draped a tarred canvas sheet across their progress on the boat anyway, securing the corners with bricks and heavy stones.

“You think it will rain?” Mikasa felt a twinge of trepidation at the idea, despite herself.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Better safe than sorry.”

It would rain, and the first drop fell on the back of Mikasa’s hand just after she raised it to block one of Levi’s uppercuts. He halted, as if he’d seen the splash against her skin, and his eyes went back to the sky. On cue, a deep roll of thunder echoed above.

“Stay the night,” he muttered, still watching the clouds. For a moment Mikasa thought he wasn’t addressing her.

“Pardon?”

“Unless you’d prefer to get drenched on your walk home.” His gaze flicked back to her, chin still lifted upwards. “Stay here.”

Another rule had been firmly inculcated in Mikasa’s brain since the beginning of their deal; never again would she stay the night at Levi’s house. It was too domestic, too...risky. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

He dealt her an exasperated look. “I have a guest room, Mikasa,” as if she didn’t remember. Then he took for the house, his next words nearly lost beneath the second rumble of thunder, “and you don’t even have to pay for it.”

The barb stung and, much to her surprise, a swell of embarrassment rose in her chest. She covered with an impression of his own hallmark snort of disdain, staring at the wide open door of his cabin as if challenging him to come back out and resume their quarrel. He wouldn’t. He knew she’d give up, and even if she didn’t he’d probably just go about his nightly routine without a backward thought.

Mikasa hung her head and trudged into the house.

A rising whistle came from the kitchen. Tea. She heard the gentle sound of water being poured into a cup. One pour. Two. He passed her the steaming drink without a word, his demeanor more casual than standoffish.

“You know where the room is,” he said over his shoulder, disappearing from the room and moving to some unseen location like they were having the most natural,  _ domestic  _ exchange in the world. “I’ll get you another blanket.”

Mikasa did, indeed, know where the guest room was. So acutely, in fact, that she found herself keeping her eyes averted from the door anytime she entered his house, as if the proceedings of that night were scrawled onto its surface in bold letters. Entering the room now, she discovered it wasn’t shame that had kept her away but one simple realization and, consequently, the driving basis behind her actions; that she, and most likely he too, was incredibly, painfully lonely.

The gash in the wall was still visible; a thin reminder of the knife she had thrown  _ that  _ night. Her stomach fluttered. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

Levi brought her the promised blanket, and even in the dark she could tell his eyes avoided her. He didn’t linger, mumbling a perfunctory “night” before retreating to his own room. Mikasa watched him go, noting that there was no mirror in his room like the one from her dream. She had an urge to call him back. It was fleeting.

The whole thing was rather humorous. Armin would have laughed at her.  _ You’re not a child anymore. Quit confining yourself to the boundaries of one. _

Eren would have offered a less eloquent but just as blunt,  _ get over yourselves and fuck already. _

But they  _ were  _ fucking. That wasn’t the problem. In fact, she felt the least awkward around her former captain when neither had clothes on. There was tension, sure, of a sexual nature, but also the sense of  _ hiding  _ from the other. Mikasa pondered this as she crawled into the cold bed, tea forgotten on the bedside table. Her final thoughts before sleep were of that dreamland mirror and her own face so starkly returned to her.

* * *

 

What woke her was the screaming.

The sound had torn through the fabric of her sleep, mingling with the strange dream-thoughts there—feminine and shrill, she saw the face of her mother before bolting upright into wakefulness.

For a terrible moment, before her cognition had solidified, Mikasa thought it had been her own scream.

Thunder roared above, lightning flashing outside the window and making her jump. Then the screaming started again. Only it wasn’t screaming. It was the  _ wind. _

Mikasa stood in the middle of the room staring through the window at the summer tempest raging beyond. Rain smacked against the pane and roof, sounding eerily like the splattering sound blood made when it fell from a Titan’s grinning mouth. The wind screeched along the sides of the cabin like a distraught banshee, rattling the shutters and ripping branches from the trees.

Levi’s door slammed. “Mikasa! Are you up?” A curse, the sound of shuffling. “Mikasa!”

She threw open her door, greeted by the somewhat comical sight of Levi, hair mussed and shirt buttoned askew, yanking on his boot with a staggering hop. In all the time she’d known him, Mikasa could never remember seeing her former captain so  _ disheveled. _

His slate eyes snapped to her. “The wind, Mikasa. The fucking wind.”

The reason for his desperation hit her like a thunderstrike; _the_ _boat._ She had her boots on before Levi had even reached the front door. No sooner had he opened it, than the wind rushed in like an uninvited guest. Mikasa’s nightshift billowed around her like so much fabric, the icy rain cutting her to the bone. She wanted to laugh, laugh at the both of them for doubting the probability of rain and for their collective naïveté when it came to tropical storms. _The fucking wind._

The sky roared like a titan, rending the night in half with its lightning fists until the rain fell like blood from a mortal wound upon the ground. The canvas Levi had fastened around their project had come free, standing on end like some mad bear and gyrating in the wind. Hair matted itself to Mikasa’s face, blinding her, and she pawed at the strands as she barreled toward the boat. She could hear Levi cursing in the dark.

“The shed! Grab anything you can and follow me!” Light seared along the clearing again, casting his face in a ghostly blue-white. Then it was dark again and Mikasa was momentarily blind. Fumbling with the toolbox she had seen by her right foot, she made sure to lock it tight, the vision of scattering small pieces and equipment into the dark mud enough to make her queasy.

They had to time their trip with the lightning, waiting for the storm to light their path with a brief flash before taking off into the darkness. The shed was small, about a third the size of the cabin—which was by no means roomy—and Mikasa feared they wouldn’t be able to cram all the wood and supplies into the small space. She also feared the boat would be beyond salvaging.

With each trip they made from the flailing canvas to the stable—she forgot how many quickly after stumbling over a wind-strewn branch and landing on her knees in the mud—the harder the rain began to fall, as if the storm were punishing them for removing the objects of its destruction. The wind was dying, an irony not lost on them, but thunder still rumbled deep within the black clouds.

_ A little rain never hurt anyone.  _ Her own words rang in her head, making her cringe at their arrogance. She wanted to slap that Mikasa in the face right about now and say,  _ how ‘bout a  _ lot  _ of rain, huh? _

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” The words left her unbidden, and she was so shocked by the outburst that she trailed off the sentence into a mumble.

“What?” Levi called above the rain, bent over the wilted, weather-beaten pall and wrestling it into some semblance of a fold.

“I said, I’m sorry for being a bitch earlier!” she bellowed. 

Levi paused, still bent over the sheet, and she half expected him to quip, “you’re always a bitch, Mikasa.” Instead, he wiped his palms on his trousers—as if they were any cleaner than his hands—and said, “can you help me fold this?”

Either she was dog tired, or some guilt-driven urge had made her into a dog, but Mikasa bent to help him without much hesitation. The wind had died fully now, but the rain continued its torrent, puddling in the sheet outstretched between them. “I mean it. I know we’ve never been…”  _ friends  _ felt like the wrong word, and she suddenly wished for Armin’s vocabulary. “...particularly  _ warm _ toward each other, but I respected you.” Dear  _ God  _ she was speech-vomiting again; her tongue was errant and not her own. “I still do. Hell, I even admire you. I think you’re an insufferable shorty, but you’re…”

He was looking at her now, gaze dark beneath dripping fringe,  _ listening. _

“You’re a good man.”

Those slate eyes were blank, unblinking. Then he dropped the canvas with a wet plop and shook his head. “Told ya you’d catch a cold.”

The words were mumbled, barely audible above the steady patter of rain. Mikasa stood there, still clutching her side of the half-folded pall. “That’s an old wives’ tale.”

“Eh?”

“You can’t catch a cold from rain.”

Levi stared at her for a few beats, before brushing past her and toward the cabin, boots squelching in the mud.

A sudden desperation to keep him there with her overcame Mikasa, to make him understand the feeling in her gut that even  _ she  _ didn’t quite have a definition for. “I miss it, you know.”

Levi halted. Not at her voice but at the words themselves, because he  _ knew  _ what she meant.

“I have nightmares about it almost every night. I still see their faces, the Titans. I wake up smelling blood. But I know that if you strapped ODM gear to me and handed me some blades I’d remember exactly how to use them. And I  _ miss  _ it, Levi.”

A small shudder, barely detectable in the moonlight, passed through his body. His head bent slightly, shoulders shifting, as if some great weight were leaving him. Then he turned. “I can’t give you what you want.”

Mikasa jerked back, as if he’d accused her of something obscene. “And what is it that I  _ want?” _

A chuckle left him, similar to the one from earlier in the day, and the sound seemed stranger in the near dark with no discernible features to place with it. “Still not sure I have that figured out, Mikasa.” Then he sighed, lifting his face to the rain, moonlight jutting off the angles of his cheeks and jaw. “But you’re a lot like me, and I’m running away. Have been for a while. Running and hiding all the same. You want an  _ escape _ .”

He was making her angry. Angry that he could be so removed yet cut her to the bone all at once. She stepped toward him—to close some of the physical distance at least. “So what the fuck do we do then, huh? Maybe I should throw myself off this fucking cliff and be rid of it all. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. No one to fucking miss me, anyway. They’re all dead!”

Levi’s shoulders shifted again, his face leveling to hers. “The reason you don’t throw yourself from this  _ fucking cliff  _ is because it would dishonor  _ their  _ memories.” There was a familiar, cold edge to his voice, one she’d heard many a time in training days of old. “Or did their lives mean nothing to you?”

_“Of_ _course they did!”_ He was riling her, another tactic from said training days, beckoning her to trip so she could learn from the fall. “Not a day goes by when I don’t miss them.” She was crying now, too spent for pride. She wasn’t too far gone to miss the fractional widening of Levi’s eyes, however, the way his gaze softened.

“And yet each day it gets harder to remember their faces.”

Mikasa choked on a sob.  _ “What?” _

“They’re up there with that war that never leaves your head. They’ll always be there, but each day both get a little less clear, a little less painful.” She must have closed her eyes, or maybe the tears were clouding her vision, because suddenly he was before her, grip solid on her upper arms. “But you know what, Mikasa?” His fingers dug into her arms, pulling her attention to him fully. “That’s ok. That’s how it should be. Because they are dead and the war is done. You’re not a soldier anymore, not humanity’s strongest, and you don’t have to carry them anymore.”

She crumbled against him, chest convulsing with silent sobs. His heart beat steady and fast against her breast, arms solid around her, and she was transported back to a time when she’d held a very different man to her, had listened to a very different heart against her ear. The storm was moving above them, the clap of thunder now several seconds behind a scissoring streak of lightning.

In the dark, Mikasa gave up to Levi’s waiting ear the deepest secret that had curled itself around her heart and begun to fester; that when Armin and Eren had finally succumbed to their curse, when the initial agony of their passing had dulled, Mikasa had been left with an overwhelming feeling of  _ relief. _

Levi’s face turned inward to burrow against her neck. His breath was hot, contrasting with the wet coldness of the rain permeating her night clothes, making goose flesh rise along her arms. She in turn curled her fingers into his strong back, pulling him closer to her, feeling his warm hands expand along her ribs. There was understanding there. She felt his shared relief in the sag of his shoulders.

Somehow, Mikasa’s mouth ended up on his neck, at first seeking warmth, then very much seeking flesh, and he stiffened again. His heart thundered against hers, breath audible and quickening the more she worked her mouth. One of her hands slipped along the top buttons of his shirt, finding its way to the feverish flesh beneath and resting above that beating vessel in his chest. He grasped her hips and pulled back.

Levi’s eyes were two gleams of graphite in the dark, screened by dripping strands of ebony fringe. Another schism of light illuminated the sharp planes of his face, followed by the clap of thunder several seconds later. Even in the resulting darkness, Mikasa could see how his eyes roamed her form, and her nipples grew taught beneath the sodden material of her shirt.

Then he was moving.

They all but fell against the door of the cabin. His mouth was fire along the curve of her neck and clavicle, hands merciless in their frantic grope across her stomach and breasts. Mikasa wrapped both legs around his waist, feeling the solidity of the door at her back, an anchor to arch and writhe against.

Levi’s breath was ragged, head bent as he worked the fastenings of his pants.  _ Too slow, quicker now, hurry, please.  _ He didn’t even bother to pull down her underwear, merely pushed the fabric aside and slipped in. _ Yes, God, just like that. _ Their coupling was savage, a desperate grappling of limbs and teeth, punctuated by the raging hammer in the sky.

The front of Mikasa’s shift had come undone, her breasts assaulted by rain, his mouth. His face drew close to hers, and though they’d been closer, the sudden fear of him leaning in possessed her and she dropped her head back against the door with a thud, staring into the torrent and light flash and then the endless, yawning dark. His lips found her throat instead.

She was going to finish like this, dear  _ God  _ she could actually come just with him fucking her like this and nothing else. Her voice was lost amid the storm, and she felt emboldened, heightened, letting the night have more of her cries and words.

“Mikasa— _ fuck,  _ you’re going to make me come,” Levi panted, his words rough and heavy in her ear.

And then he was thumbing her clit, holding on just enough to get her there. It worked; she unraveled around him, jerking like a woman possessed, chanting nonsense to the sky, and then he was coming too, holding her to him like either of them might fly away.

Levi’s knees buckled and they both slid down the length of the door. The cold fully set in then. And the wet. Mikasa blinked water from her eyes. Levi kept his face against her neck, chest still heaving.

They remained that way for several minutes, the storm moving further and further away above their heads, the rain dissipating to a thin drizzle. Only then did Levi move. He looked at Mikasa’s disheveled form first, pulling the ties of her shift together one over the other in an oddly tender gesture. Then he caught sight of their entangled legs, saw the dirt and mud there, and his face drew into a scowl. “Well, aren’t we fucking filthy.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm blown away by the magnitude of support from all the readers here. Thank you so very much for the kind words and lovely comments left on the story. They warm my soul. There are several I still haven't replied to yet, but I so appreciate each and every one. Love you all <3


	4. Sea Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,  
> To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;  
> And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,  
> And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.  
> \- Masefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to remind myself that this was supposed to be my "guilty pleasure" project; the one wherein I don't stress over plot/continuity/grammar and kill 9 out of 10 darlings. The delay came because I was late reminding myself this and had to forcibly quit overthinking certain areas. It's done, here's the chapter. *dusts hands and walks away with a limp*
> 
> Also, I love you guys so much and thank you for your lovely comments and for always supporting me. I hope you enjoy. Also, this might be the longest one yet.

 

Mikasa woke the next morning feeling like someone had placed her skull in a bench vise.  _ Aren’t we fucking filthy.  _ Images from the night prior came with every punctuating squeeze of the vise, sending Mikasa rolling onto all fours with a grunt. Probably had something to do with her impromptu sob fit in the rain or getting fucked repeatedly against a door. At least she’d gone to bed alone. At least she had that going for her.  _ Idiot. _

Levi wasn’t in the kitchen when she managed to shamble her way from the guest room. Even his customary pot of tea wasn’t out. The chance that she could have risen before him was absurd, especially in her state. Then again, her former captain going without his morning cup was just as unlikely. Perhaps it was later in the day than she’d thought, something that made her humiliation deepen further.

She was in the process of angrily buttering a slice of bread when a series of muffled sneezes came from the room over. It was Levi, she recognized his voice, though it was a sound she never would have been able to picture coming from him.

“Levi?” It was stupid to call, and he didn’t answer anyway. Buttered bread in hand, Mikasa came closer to the door and gave another tentative call of his name. When he didn’t reply again, she knocked.

“What.” It was spoken in that same, irritated tone of voice he reserved for nagging MPs or starry-eyed cadets, yet notably more congested. Mikasa ignored propriety and opened the door. “Or just come in,” Levi muttered, not bothering to look up; he was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, both hands massaging the bridge of his nose, breathing steadily through his mouth.

“You’re sick.” Mikasa took a bite of bread, openly wondering at the sight before her. 

“And you’re getting crumbs on my floor.”

She wasn’t, even in her gawking she had the presence of mind to keep a hand beneath her breakfast. “I’ll go to Hange later and pick up a tonic.”

“Please don’t. You’ll probably walk away with a bottle of cat piss mixed with herb-of-grace, and I am  _ not  _ drinking that shit.” He coughed violently into his elbow.

“Herb-of-grace induces vomiting.”

Levi leveled her with an exasperated look, gray eyes bloodshot. “Well, there you go then. And I suppose the cat piss is just for color.” He pressed on his sinuses and groaned, eventually covering his entire face with both hands. “Actually, if you could just shoot me that’d be swell.”

Mikasa inhaled deeply and threw her gaze to the ceiling, annoyed for a multitude of reasons. “I don’t recall you being this much of a baby when you injured your leg. Who knew it would take a little cold to topple the mighty Captain Levi.” She was more stunned than anything; he hadn’t seemed ill last night, and yet he was clearly well into the infection this morning.

“You were the one going on about how the fucking rain couldn’t make you sick. Last time I take your word for anything, brat.”

“The rain  _ doesn’t  _ make you sick. The cold weather probably didn’t help, but I’d imagine most of this is a result of sleeping less than three hours a night and overworking yourself.”

Levi inhaled to deliver a comeback but was overcome with another bout of coughing. A pang of sympathy gripped Mikasa as she observed the miserable man sitting at the edge of the bed. He breathed through parted lips, sniffing on occasion. Humanity’s Strongest: slumped over himself, all vestiges of his pride wrecked by a nasty cold.

He looked like a little boy.

The next feeling that overtook her was as startling as it was profound, and she was glad he couldn’t see the stupid smirk on her face. Levi Ackerman, sicker than a dog, looked absolutely  _ adorable. _

“You should probably go. You don’t want this,” he groused, voice a tad nasally from congestion. “This is  _ horrible.” _

“I’m sure it is.”

His head shot to her. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

“Certainly not.”

He remained guarded. “Shitty brat. You enjoy seeing me suffer, admit it.”

“Sometimes, but not now.” She approached the bed, stopping before him. “Get back into bed. You’re not getting up to much today.”

He blinked up at her, confused. Then he sniffed and nodded, too miserable to argue. He sank back into the pillows with a groan. “Sonnovabitch.”

Mikasa stuffed the remaining bread in her mouth and mumbled, “I’m off to Hange’s. I’ll make you tea later.”

“The shed...I need to check on the supplies.”

“I will do it.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Well, you aren’t going to.”

He glared at her over the arch of his hand before closing his eyes with a sigh, mumbling something about “my god-damned mother.”

“You say something?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” She left without another word, closing the door before wiping the crumb-catching hand on her pant leg, taking a small amount of satisfaction in doing so.

 

* * *

 

 

The trek to Hange’s was longer than usual, made somewhat inconvenient by the muddied state of the roads and the scattering of branches and other obstacles. Not that she cared for the condition of her shoes; they were already well-sullied by last night’s excursion.

A pang of anxiety settled in her stomach; it was too early for a barbiturate refill, so she’d have to be rather forthcoming about the reason for her impromptu visit. Undoubtedly the scientist would want to know how things were progressing with the captain and his boat, not to mention where her thoughts lay on the job front. Neither were topics she was keen on discussing.

Mikasa’s fears settled some when the scientist answered the door with a grin and an enthusiastic embrace. Hange’s brand of intensity could be easier to swallow than Levi’s at times. “I come out of desperation more than anything. He becomes an even bigger pain in the ass when he’s ill, apparently.” Irritation seemed a good play, and she didn’t have to feign it where the captain was concerned. 

Hange barked a laugh. “Well, I don’t know what I can do in terms of  _ tonics.  _ Sounds like he just has a nasty cold. I do make a mean soup, however. I make it extra spicy for these occasions, clears the sinuses right up.”

“Soup it is, then.”

The next hour was actually quite pleasant, a welcome reprieve after Mikasa’s emotional night. Hange’s kitchen was cluttered as always, though not  _ dirty;  _ the stacks of papers and bizarre looking contraptions covering every bit of counter space may have looked a mess to someone like Levi, but there were no unwashed dishes or food remains. The space held an odd charm, Mikasa thought, something homey and domesticated. Hange flitted about cupboards, pulling out various spices and ingredients for the soup, waving off Mikasa when she offered assistance. Eventually, she just settled at the table and watched her former commander work, sipping tea from a vessel that was more tankard than teacup.

Conversation began casually, and Mikasa was careful not to linger on the topic of Levi and his boat, giving the briefest rundown of their late night storm setback—her traitorous mind of course replayed their tryst, and she had to hide her burning face behind the rim of her cup. Perhaps her suspicions should have been piqued when Levi became the subject they seemed to always return to, despite her subtle attempts at diverting the conversation to safer grounds; some of Hange’s queries were heavy-handed—perhaps intentionally so—questions like “and you two are getting along alright?” were easy enough to dodge. Even the goading allusions to their less than amicable history she could wave off with a relative air of nonchalance. 

Apparently, Mikasa just wasn’t good at lying.

Somewhere during their discourse she must have slipped up, must have given something away in her expression, her tone. Mikasa was well aware she was under scrutiny, having no idea she’d already been  _ ambushed _ . A strange look overcame Hange’s one eye, the hazel orb widening and swooping in toward Mikasa like the keen gaze of an owl: “So, how long you two been sleeping together?”

Had she not already swallowed her tea, Mikasa would have surely choked. As it were, she had a difficult time forming anything more coherent than a series of stunned grunts and ums.

“Never mind,” Hange waved a hand, “None of my business. Sorry.”

Well, that cat wasn’t going back in its bag. Even if Mikasa had managed to retain her wits enough to feign ignorance, the cognizance in Hange’s raptor eye was far too clear, and she’d only make a further fool of herself. “How long have you known?”

The scientist lifted one shoulder in a somewhat juvenile shrug. “Didn’t really  _ know _ , per se.” That feline smile returned. “But that reaction sure confirmed my suspicions. Damn do I miss Moblit in times like these. Betting’s no fun on your own.”

Mikasa slumped in her seat, carding both hands through her hair. She’d never stood a chance. Coming here had been a mistake. “Am I so predictable?” She cringed at the pathetic tone in her voice. The vise-like pain was returning. 

“Hey, I’m not ragging on you, kid. To be honest, I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner.” Hange stirred the soup idly, a hand on one hip. The stance was nostalgic, feminine, reminding Mikasa somewhat of Carla Jaeger. “I even asked Levi about it once.”

Something in Mikasa’s belly fluttered. “You  _ asked  _ him? When was this?”

Hange waved a hand. “Oh, several years ago. He was still Captain Levi. He pooh-poohed, therefore. Maybe a bit too much, but I believed him.”

A few  _ years  _ ago. Mikasa called to mind her headspace of that time. Things were blurry, but her thoughts had decidedly  _ not  _ been on a certain captain. At least not in the way they were now.

Hange was watching her again with that same sense of  _ knowing.  _ “Levi’s got a tough shell to crack. Not that I need to tell you that.” The owlish eye finally relinquished its hold, lowering to the simmering soup. “Not that you’re trying to crack it, anyway, but my point is this...he acts like he’s indifferent but he’s not.” Armin had employed a very similar approach to advice-giving once upon a time: being direct while also skirting the fundamental point.

“He told me he was running away. More like admitted. Running and hiding, he said.”

The spoon paused mid stir. Hange didn’t look up, shoulders rising with a heavy breath. “Perhaps.” The word was distant, coming from deep thought. The sparkling hazel eye returned, unbridled emotion evident there, at odds with the gentle smile upon the scientist’s mouth. “I’ve considered Levi a friend for a long time. And there’s something about being one of the few who came out alive that made me realize how dear a friend he is.” Soup forgotten, Hange swiveled a chair and sat beside Mikasa in one fluid motion. “I accused him of running from his problems once, and at the time I think he was...but I think he’d rather die than live out the rest of his days staring at the horizon of a world just out of his grasp. He already spent his youth doing that. Levi was never meant to become a relic.”

The dark haired man’s image emblazoned itself in Mikasa’s mind, features clear enough to make her realize she must have spent adequate time memorizing them—the dark cast of his lashes when he looked down, the sharp cut of his jaw and cheeks, those storm-gray eyes. “No. He’s not.”

Hange leaned back and gave Mikasa another one-eyed appraisal. “And what about you, Mikasa?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want? A quiet life by the sea?”

Once upon a time, maybe. She’d  _ had  _ a quiet life, however brief—family, love, a  _ choice _ —and winning the war had meant, in many ways, a return to that old life. But Eren and Armin had been integral pieces to that dream. And now…

_ What do you want? _

Mikasa of fifteen, a girl who clutched to a red scarf and was the strongest because she had to be, wanted that kind of life. That girl didn’t wonder what lay beyond the distant crease where the sky meets the sea, nor did she spend sleepless nights tormented not just by war-dreams but by a deep, unrelenting _curiosity,_ one that both the late Commander Erwin and her dear Armin Artlert had borne like a disease. But the war had ended long ago.

“You’re right,” Mikasa said, watching the surprise flicker over Hange’s face. Her frankness had been unexpected. “I don’t think I could be satisfied with an...ordinary life.”

A poignant look of relief eased over the scientist’s face, a small smile softening the hawkish features. “Erwin said once, ’we remain the same after war, yet ever changed.’” Hange chuckled, lone eye going misty. “I think he was referring to Levi, but it can apply to all of us.”

“I’ll take the job.” It was spoken in a rush, before she could balk, or before Hange could speak further about Levi or long dead comrades.

The scientist’s smile faltered. “I see.” A flash of confusion. Then a resolute understanding. “I hope you know I wasn’t trying to push you into anything—“

“This is what I want.” Mikasa heard her former captain’s bland delivery in the words. Cold and removed was her only avenue now, and she ignored the gnawing pang in her gut.

“And Levi? What does he want?”

“Escape. He told me himself. We’ll finish the boat and then...” Mikasa swallowed heavily. “We’ll go our own ways. That’s always been the plan.” And it had. It had always been the plan. Hadn’t it?

Hange’s mouth pressed into a downward curve, hazel eye drifting to some unseen spot on the table. “Tough nuts, the both of them.” Then, quick as a snap, the scientist’s expression changed into a beaming grin. “Well, those fossils back in the walls will be getting one hell of a soldier. I’ll write a letter and send it out with the next mailing.” And just like that the conversation was over. Hange rose from the table, grimacing now. “Soup’s done.”

 

* * *

 

 

The small shed behind Levi’s house had sheltered the boat pieces surprisingly well. Mikasa had expected to find an irremediable pile of moldering timber and tools; only a few of the smaller planks appeared to be beyond saving, and the shed didn’t smell like mildew or rot.

Rather than set to work immediately, Mikasa placed the kettle on to boil and ventured back to the infirmed captain’s room. The bed was made and empty with no sign of Levi. Then she heard the patter of water. He was showering.

She’d been entirely set on leaving then—was nearly to the door, in fact—but something in her periphery made her pause. It was a small trunk, unassuming and nearly invisible there against the dark corner of the wall. There was no lock—not a secret, then—but the muted nature of the chest so clearly screamed  _ private _ .

_ Leave. Go now.  _ Mikasa knelt.

Papers, mainly. Old war documents, most of them embellished with the lines and signature of Levi’s neat hand, but she recognized a few with Hange’s scrawl. Beneath these pages she found photographs: yellowing images of comrades, some formal military shots, others more candid. She’d never seen the captain with a camera, so these must have been obtained from Hange. The chest was well organized, despite its assortment of loose paper and random baubles, so she was careful not to upset its structure too much—though Levi didn’t seem to delve here too often, judging by the (surprising) layer of dust covering the items.

At the very bottom, as unadorned as the coffer that contained it, lay a leather-bound book. There was no title, but the spine and covers appeared more substantial than an ordinary journal. Mikasa hesitated, her pulse loud in her ears, confronted both by her ethics and the odd desire to  _ look.  _ How dangerous and irredeemable it would be if she were caught now.  _ Leave. Go now.  _ Mikasa’s hand drifted to the depths of the trunk, fingers just grazing the leather—

Levi’s sneeze was muffled through the walls, but she started as if he’d been seated right beside her the whole time. The lid slammed shut, nearly taking Mikasa’s fingers in the process, as if the chest were chastising her for snooping. She stood too quickly, swooning in her haste to put distance between herself and her misdeed.

Mindlessly, she made her way back to the kitchen to rescue the now screeching kettle. She poured the boiling water into a cup, trying to quell the guilt that had nestled itself next to the unshakeable spirit of inquiry in her gut. Everyone had tokens from life in the war—trinkets or sweet reminders of better days to offset the scars. Levi should be no different. And yet she found it hard to place this habit of sentimentality with the former captain, a man who liked things neat and clean, who rarely spoke of the past and even less of the future. A man she hardly knew at all...

Mikasa swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat and carried the steaming cup of black tea to Levi’s room. She found him reclined on the made bed, clothes on and hair damp. He greeted her with a croaking voice, carding a hand through his inky strands and revealing more of his face and eyes.

“Oi, brat. Did you hear me?”

_ Shit.  _ Despite the wan color of his flesh, Mikasa had been undeniably distracted by the newly revealed—and alarmingly attractive—angles of his cheekbones and brow. “Sorry?”

“I said, did you make soup or is that some kind of Hange-tonic I smell?”

“It’s soup. Hange made it though. I’m supposed to let it simmer for a while longer.” She strode to the side table, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ll bring you some when it’s ready.” Her tone was dismissive, and she caught his heavenward glance in her periphery.

“You’re not my maid, Mikasa. I’m not an invalid. It’s just a cold.” And then, slightly stilted, “I didn’t expect you to rush out and do that.”

Chagrined, Mikasa fidgeted with the teacup, unwilling to set it down lest her hands be empty. Perhaps visiting Hange first thing in the morning had been too obvious. She suddenly felt like a fool, too blind by urge to tread as carefully as she should have. Then again, it wasn’t like Hange had been reprimanding her for some sin.  _ Betting’s no fun on your own… _

“Oi. Mikasa. Where’s your head?”

Distracted again. She needed to think. She needed space—from him, especially. And he needed to stop running his hand through his hair like that. “Sorry, didn’t sleep well. I’ll bring you the soup later. It’s no trouble at all.”

Levi sent another glance skyward, hands opening in silent question. “Ok, fine. I’ll let you play nursemaid. Can you quit flitting for a second—” His voice caught in his throat, his elbow coming up to bury a violent succession of coughs. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, eyes watering.

“How long have you been feeling like this? There’s no way you got this sick overnight.” 

“I don’t sleep well, you said it yourself. I just thought I was feeling my age.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Older than you.” Levi changed tactics, reaching out to grasp her wrist, keeping her still. His fingers were hot and dry against her skin. “Mikasa.” He spoke her name in a gravelly voice, as if he could browbeat her with it alone. Mikasa met his gray gaze. Finally, and with a sound that was half cough, half chuckle, Levi let go, fingers trailing the back of her hand. He shook his head. “Bet this is all very entertaining for you. Isn’t it, brat?”

“Well, it beats running around in a storm.”

“Does it?” His eyes shifted back to hers, and something pleasant fluttered in her stomach. Had it not been for his thoughtful expression she would have thought him being sarcastic. The moment was ruined—or perhaps saved—by another fit of coughing from Levi. He sighed heavily and covered his face with both hands.

Mikasa debated telling him Hange had found them out. At the very least she should tell him about her decision to take the job. The latter remained stuck on her tongue, however, a deep ache of guilt settling in her gut, as if she’d gone against some moral code laid out between the two of them. This was how it was always supposed to go, wasn’t it?  _ We’ll go our own ways. That’s always been the plan.  _ She set the cup down.

“Don’t you have soup to stir?” Levi spoke through his hands.

“It’s not going anywhere.” She sat on the floor and drew near the bed, daring to rest her elbows on its surface. “And neither are you.” Her hands found his belt.

Levi went utterly still. “The hell do you think you’re doing, Ackerman?” He’d splayed his fingers to regard her with wide eyes, the look somewhat juvenile and incredibly amusing.

“Making you feel better,” she chuckled, pulling the belt from its buckle.

His hands covered her own. “You don’t...that’s not...necessary.”

Good God, she’d  _ flustered  _ him.

Mikasa rose up onto her knees and grasped his wrists, bringing them down to his sides. “Neither is soup, really.”

“That’s different. Soup has healing benefits.”

“So do orgasms.” She trailed a finger over the outline of his cock and he jolted.

“Mikasa.”

“Levi.” A slow smile tugged at her mouth. He was looking at her as if she’d suddenly spoken a made-up language. “You want me to stop?”

Levi was clearly trying to gauge if this was some kind of trick. He was half hard beneath her index finger, but his eyes searched her face for an underlying motive. From the beginning, this had been give and take; they were in it for themselves with no regard for the other. This was  _ fucking.  _ There were  _ rules.  _

Mikasa held his gaze and bit her lower lip.

His adam’s apple bobbed, eyes darting to the pink flesh tucked between her teeth. “Okay,” he croaked, eyes dilated. “Just don’t kiss me or anything, unless you want the fucking plague.”

She snorted a laugh. “We never kiss.”

The statement felt more profound than she’d intended it to be, and she watched the realization flit over his own face. It hadn’t been discussed, but the no-kissing policy made sense, in a way. Still, the fact that it’d never happened served to underline the nature of their odd relationship.

To move past the sudden awkwardness, Mikasa set to undoing his pants. He sunk deeper into his pillow, watching her with hooded eyes as she pulled his trousers and underwear over his hips and took him in hand. His lashes fluttered closed as she began to stroke him, his jaw tensing as she passed her thumb across the tip of him.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Levi breathed when she unexpectedly drew her tongue up the underside of his length. She didn’t take him in her mouth yet, drawing out sharp breaths from him with just her hand and tongue.

He was rock hard now, hands fisted into the quilt, head tilted back to expose his pale neck. She wanted to bite the flesh there, like she’d done on several occasions before, but settled for dragging the surface of her teeth along the side of his length.

Levi shuddered, jaw falling open. “Goddammit, Mikasa.” She took him in her mouth then, and his hand flew to her hair. The sideways angle was awkward on her neck, but she ignored the discomfort, focusing on the movements of her tongue.  _ “Shit.” _

She was working slowly.  _ Much  _ too slowly. His hips rotated, the impatience building in his body as she continued to tease him. She watched his face, the way he clamped down on his bottom lip to keep his voice in check, and she could see the sudden, erotic appeal in the action. She moaned around him, pressing the heel of her bare foot against her core.

A sharp gasp left him when her fingers cupped the taut sack below his cock, and she hummed again her approval. His fingers tightened around the strands of her hair, the semi-painful sensation sending a jolt straight to her loins. She removed her free hand from the bed and searched for the edge of her skirt along the floor, sliding up the thick fabric to meet at the apex of her thighs.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself?” His voice was thick with lust, his discovery only adding to his arousal.

Mikasa drew herself to her knees, her hand compensating for the loss of her mouth. She clambered onto the bed and situated herself before bending forward to reclaim him with her mouth, her hand buried beneath her skirts.

Levi gasped again, and both of his hands found her hair, pressing but not forcing. “Shit, just like that, fucking hell.” He was breathing heavily now, hips rolling and tensing beneath her. The small sounds he made sent little thrills through her, and she rode her fingers in time with the action of her mouth.

Then she pulled away, tugging at him lazily with her hand.

A deep crease set between his brows, a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Shit, I was _close,_ Mikasa.” 

She smiled dreamily, making no attempt to hurry the motion of her hand. “So am I,” she hummed. She caught sight of his awed expression before her head tilted back and her eyes slipped closed. She ground against her hand, gunning straight toward her release all while maintaining the gentle tugging motion on his length. Her brow furrowed, hips rising and falling as she encountered that edge, mewling softly at the tipping point. She heard him groan as she came, and her hand halted around his cock as she shuddered over herself.

After a beat, she smiled again and bent forward. His eyes widened, mouth falling open to speak, but the words were stolen by a guttural moan as she took him in her mouth again. There was no teasing now, no indolence. She drew him in with fervor. The sudden, tight pressure of her mouth made him choke out another groan, followed by another, and soon he was gasping.

“Fuck, Mikasa, what the fuck—“ He was downright  _ whimpering  _ at this point, and she couldn’t help but feel enormously satisfied by rendering him such a state. “Shit, you’re gonna make— _ Mikasa—“ _

It occurred to her that he was probably expecting her to pull off, and she felt another rush of satisfaction at the gasp he gave as his release flooded her mouth. She waited until he’d spent himself, until his stuttering moans reduced to ragged breath, before she sat up. She flicked her thumb and index over the corners of her mouth.

“Did...did you  _ swallow?”  _ The incredulous look on Levi’s face went well with his mussed hair and slightly rosy cheeks—and it was only  _ then,  _ of all times, that Mikasa had the sudden urge to kiss him.

Instead, she rose from the bed, adjusting her skirts. “Wouldn’t want to leave a mess, would we?” she purred, sending another look to his parted mouth before leaving the room.

Ten minutes later, she returned with his soup. He’d changed his clothes—probably washed again, knowing him—and it was like nothing had ever happened.

“Tonic,” she intoned, setting the bowl on the bedside table. He hadn’t touched the tea.

He didn’t look over, his gaze unseeing at some point in the distance as he pondered, fingers interlaced over his chest. 

“Sit up,” she instructed, and he obeyed, sliding back against the pillow she’d propped along the headboard. “I brought you tissues, too,” she added.

She was about to issue another command when he suddenly spoke, dragging out the words, his voice a gravelly rasp in his chest, “I like watching you come.”

Mikasa nearly dropped the soup into his lap, her cheeks heating suddenly as he flicked his gray eyes up to her face. She swallowed, frozen above him, before recovering herself and placing the bowl into his hands. “It’s hot.” She almost dropped it again when his forefinger very deliberately passed over her knuckles.

Neither spoke again, and she tried not to rush her exit of the room. Her heart hammered like a wild thing in her chest, his words far more affecting than her own damn hand had been between her legs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR: Levi-kun has a cold and Mikasa goes full protective ~~girlfriend~~ fuckbuddy and gets soup from Hange, who _tootally_ knows they're Ackerfucking. Mikasa is a chickenshit and gets all nervous about her relationship with Levi (what are feelings???), and hastily accepts Hange's job offer from chapter 2. Mikasa snoops and finds a chest belonging to Levi full of papers and shit from war days; she also finds a mysterious book (foreshadowing???!!) but doesn't read it 'cause she has to abandon her sleuth mission before she gets caught. Mikasa mentally appraises the (damn fine) bone structure of Levi's face, has another chickenshit moment and decides to give him a blowjob instead of tell him about accepting Hange's job offer (because *guilt*). Levi gives her post-cum googly eyes and makes her feel even more confused.


	5. Sailing To Byzantium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O sages standing in God's holy fire  
> As in the gold mosaic of a wall,  
> Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,  
> And be the singing-masters of my soul.  
> Consume my heart away; sick with desire  
> And fastened to a dying animal  
> It knows not what it is; and gather me  
> Into the artifice of eternity.  
> \- Yeats

“Jean Kirschtein is getting married.”

The news shouldn’t have been surprising, but Mikasa, elbow-deep in sudsy water with a plate in one hand and a sponge in the other, staggered nonetheless. Over her shoulder, Levi was brandishing a letter, its lofty chirography catching the light and making the golden ink shimmer. An invitation. 

“Didn’t know he had someone.” Levi’s eyes narrowed over the missive as if suddenly in need of glasses.

“I met her once,” Mikasa said, resuming her washing. “Eva, I think. She was nice.”

And normal. Utterly, painfully normal. Upon their first meeting, Mikasa had noted the lack of calluses on Eva’s palms when they’d shaken hands or the feminine softness to her lithe body, which held no tone or scars, and had reserved a certain amount of judgement for her because of this; how could this woman, who was no soldier, understand someone like Jean, who awoke some nights struggling in the phantom grip of a Titan or shouting the names of dead comrades?

“You and Jean were close, right?”

Mikasa turned at the question, unable to decipher its meaning from Levi’s dry tone. His expression offered little help either. “Only friends,” she supplied, though she doubted he’d care either way.

Levi murmured a single note in the back of his throat.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Next week.”

“Alright, then.”

And so it was tacitly decided (as most things were between them) that they would go to Jean’s wedding. Mikasa assumed Levi felt more duty-bound rather than any true desire to attend. That he still planned on going was, she supposed, commendable. For her part, she wouldn’t deny guilt was the primary motivator; she’d lost touch with most of her friends from the war days, and while Jean and tried valiantly through the years to maintain some kind of connection with her, even he had eventually fallen out of contact. She owed it to him to rise above the self-absorbed mire of regret she’d sunk herself into over the past few years. She owed it to Armin and Eren, too.

The week leading up to the wedding seemed to drag, the event itself looming like a specter in Mikasa’s mind. At some point during that time she’d stopped returning to her own home at night and had made Levi’s guest room her nightly residence. She blamed this oversight on his brief sick spell and her inherent need to play doctor; but Levi had recovered quickly, leaving very few excuses for her continued stay.

Perhaps the nightmares, then.

The dreams themselves weren’t changing—she still woke shuddering in the cold damp of her own sweat, the faces of Armin and Eren afterimages behind her eyelids; it was her ability to wake up, even when she knew it was a dream, that was becoming more difficult. Some nights she found herself on the floor, the sheets tangled around her torso, having twisted her way off the bed in her sleep. The most concerning was the time she awoke already sitting up in bed, cheeks wet, mumbling something incoherent.

Hange’s tonic was the only explanation. Insomnia was no longer an issue, but she didn’t like the idea of being trapped in bed with her own mind for longer than necessary. “Maybe we need to rethink the dosage,” the scientist offered, expression concerned, if not bemused.

Mikasa found herself settled into a rhythm, however stilted. The mornings were hard, the residual soporific a fog in her mind that stuck around well into midday, which saw her doggedly going about the boat project with nail, hammer, or the damned manual, followed by a rigorous spar with Levi in the evening—this either dissolved into fucking or a nugatory argument—and then concluded with her dragging her sore body back to her dreaded berth where she downed yet another drench of barbiturate.

Before long, Mikasa was assembled into a dress she hadn’t worn in forever, standing on the rocky shore of the inescapable coast surrounded by other wedding goers, the sun setting orange and then crimson behind them as the vows were read. Mikasa tried not to ghost around the libations and actually make an effort to talk to people, but the idea of _socializing_ didn’t appeal to her much, so she mainly kept to herself. She was just grateful for the wine. There was lots of it.

Eventually, after she figured she’d spent a reasonable amount of time floating through the scene, she caved and sought a more familiar face; she doubted Levi would be so callous as to not show, though she hadn’t seen him arrive at the ceremony. Then again, she wasn’t too keen on seeking him out. He would have found her if he’d wanted to, anyway.

A familiar eyepatch sat at one of the tables on the outskirts of the party, sipping wine and watching the tide. It wasn’t until Mikasa was closer to the table—too close to turn around—that she saw Hange wasn’t alone. He was easy to miss from where he’d propped himself against one of the decorative stanchions that supported the paper lanterns illuminating the ceremony, concealed as he was beneath its shade—because the shadows suited him just fine, after all. So did the jacket and button down he’d decided to wear. He regarded her from his corner and greeted her with a perfunctory “brat.”

Hange kicked free a chair from the table for Mikasa. “Come join the real party.” The scientist grinned, produced a bottle of wine from beneath the table, and slid it across the table. “Not a wedding person?”

Perhaps she hadn’t done as good of a job socializing as she’d thought. “I’m a wine person.” Mikasa topped off her own glass. She was aware of gray eyes but feigned aloof, finding interest in the hem of her dress or the wine label.

“Didn’t take you for a lush,” Levi drawled, arching a brow at her.

Hange answered, misconstruing the recipient of the jab. “It’s only my third glass, Levi. Let me live a little.”

_“Tch.”_

The lantern light twinkled in Hange’s auburn eye, the look almost mischievous. “You look nice, Mikasa. I don’t think I’ve seen that dress.” And then, before Mikasa could reply, “doesn’t she look nice, Levi?”

There was an unprecedented sensation of warmth spreading across Mikasa’s face, one that couldn’t be written off as the alcohol. “So do you, Hange,” she bit out quickly. Ignoring Levi would seem suspect, so she looked the man dead in the eye and said, “for a minute I didn’t think you’d show.”

“I’m not that heartless, brat. Nor socially inept.”

“Never said you were.”

“You’ve thrown words my way before.”

An odd sound escaped Hange, a hum that rose in pitch before cutting off. Mikasa forced her attention back to the man beside her. “You said it yourself, you’ve never cared what I thought.”

A dark chuckle, one that set the fine hairs on her neck and arms to raise. “I also said you couldn’t take a compliment.”

“When have you ever paid me a…”

Oh. The memory of him above her came vividly to mind—her shirt gaping, his sharp-set eyes roving her front. _You have very pretty breasts._ Mikasa was too warm suddenly, the light shawl she’d brought feeling like a winter woolen. She pulled the garment from her shoulders. Hange watching the exchange with amusement in one eye and both lips pressed together as if stifling an outburst. 

“Humanity’s strongest three!” Jean appeared like an aberrant Titan before their table, his bride at his side. “I’ve come to save the day.” He brandished an unopened bottle of wine. Eva looked away from the inebriated savior and gave Mikasa a sheepish smile. Jean observed the exchange and sobered. “I just wanted to thank you guys for coming. There are too many faces missing, but I’m thankful you’re here.” 

“It was a pleasure, Jean,” Hange replied. “It’s a happy day. We haven’t had too many of those.”

Jean smiled. “You know, you’re all welcome by the house anytime. Eva and I would love to have you for dinner.” He addressed the group, but Mikasa caught how his eyes lingered on her.

Guilt gnawed her stomach, souring the wine. The time lost sat heavy between them, a divide made more distant by her reluctance to cross it. “That would be nice,” she said, meaning it, yet with no intention to ever follow through. Jean held her gaze, familiar with her dance, and waited for her to speak again. She didn’t.

Levi cleared his throat. “I do appreciate the casual dress code, Kirschtein. I doubt I could find my uniform.”

Jean huffed a laugh, the sound genuine and a bit relieved. “To new times, eh, captain?”

Levi nodded and met Jean’s proffered glass with his own. “New times. And I’m not your captain anymore.”

“Some habits die hard,” Jean grimaced.

The table shifted to accommodate the two newest arrivals, with Hange moving down a chair to allow Levi a seat—unnecessary, but it happened to place him directly beside Mikasa. Hange was smirking behind a sip of wine. Perhaps more awkward: Eva had sat herself directly across from Mikasa, her hand joined with Jean’s and resting on the table.

Mikasa repressed a jolt when the coarse tweed of Levi’s jacket grazed along her bare arm as he reached for his wine. His gray eyes cornered to her. She buried her face in her own glass.

“I remember when you bought that place on the bluffs, cap,” Jean mused, oblivious. “Are you sure you want to give it up?”

“Who said anything about giving up my house, brat?” Levi arched a brow at the man across from him, but his eyes were soft with mirth and drink.

Jean spread his arms in a grand show of debate, nearly knocking over his glass in the process. “Who’s gonna watch the damn thing when you’re sailing off into the sunset?”

“I think the groom is trying to steal your abode, Levi,” Hange snickered.

“Listen,” Jean continued, eyes shining, “don’t you want to come home to a house that’s been well-kept and cleaned? You don’t want to step over the threshold and into a pile of dust, do you?”

Hange was chortling uncontrollably into a fresh glass of wine, looking between Jean’s plastered face and Levi’s bland expression. Mikasa noted his posture, though—relaxed, his hand playing idly with the stem of his glass. He hadn’t bothered to fix the errant strands of hair that the light breeze had set loose across his forehead. She let her gaze fall to the exposed points of his clavicle, where he’d loosened the first few buttons of his shirt...

Belatedly, she realized Jean was addressing her. “...just don’t go building your own boat. Don’t need anymore of my comrades sailing off without me.” It was a joke, but she watched his smile twitch as he topped off his glass.

“I’m not sailing anywhere,” Mikasa murmured. The wine had dulled her senses, and she sent a glance to Levi against her better judgment. He continued to play with the stem of his wine glass. “And besides, Connie is still here.”

A pained look crossed Jean’s face. “In body, maybe. I hardly recognize the old soak he’s become.” He covered Eva’s hand with his own. “God knows we’ve all lost too much. But Connie…”

“I’m sorry,” Mikasa murmured, speaking to more than just the guilt in her gut. “I didn’t know.”

Jean huffed a tortured laugh. He lifted his hazy, brown eyes to her and smiled grimly. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Someone shifted in their chair, the movement of fabric suddenly too loud in the quiet. Mikasa regretted not leaving sooner. She should have given her regards and bowed out several hours and glasses of wine ago.

Eva finally stuttered out, “I hear you have a new job, Mikasa?”

Hange’s voice was thick with relief. “She does! And let me tell you, no better person for the job.” The scientist craned across the table to deliver Mikasa a grin that was a little too broad. “And there’s something catchy about the title of _personal guard,_ right?”

Between them, Levi’s eyes made a protracted roll to the sky. Mikasa ignored him and nodded, forcing a smile of her own. She’d had enough of titles and epithets to last her a lifetime.

“That’s very exciting!” Eva clasped her hand together beneath her chin. Whether she truly found the news to be very exciting or not wasn’t clear, but she was maintaining a more convincing smile than Hange. “Forgive me, Hange, but I’m afraid I’m not all that savvy when it comes to your field of work.”

And just like that, Eva steered the conversation away from Mikasa and into safer territory. With a pang, she realized how much this social adroitness reminded her of Armin. Periodically, Eva would reach a hand over and rest it on her husband’s arm, her thumb rubbing absently, and Mikasa noted how Jean’s stature visibly relaxed, as if some portending energy had been building in him without his knowledge and Eva had waylaid it with merely a touch. Mikasa found her previous prejudices of the woman challenged; perhaps _normal_ was exactly what Jean needed.

“Mikasa,” Levi whispered. The use of her name, the gentle tone of his voice, made her straighten in her chair. His expression was soft, but only in part from drink. “You look very nice.”

A familiar tightness formed in her lower belly, a pleasant warmth that made her want to turn away from his perusal in shame and titivate at the same time. Once again she found her gaze drawn to his mouth, wondering how they’d come this far having shirked certain intimacies. How would he react if she leaned forward? How would the entire table react? The thought amused her, and she realized, in her mildly compromised state, that she was smiling. His eyes dropped to the motion, lips parting just a breath…

The faint but unmistakable sound of thunder rolled in the distance, breaking the moment. Jean’s head snapped to attention, bloodshot eyes bright with excitement. “Was that…?”

“Suppose we should wrap up before that gets too close,” Eva sighed, nodding at the black clouds gathering on the horizon.

The wedding crowd was already beginning to disperse, a few stragglers approaching the table to bid the new couple good night—which included several suggestive eyebrow waggles from the more inebriated. Mikasa took that moment to duck out, hoping to make it back to her house before the sky opened. Her head was starting to pound. Jean, despite being well in his cups, seemed to zero in on her retreat with alarming intuition and shouted an amiable, “dinner!” after her. She just nodded and grinned, stomach twisting ever tighter.

The air became cooler as she hiked the bank toward the main road. The voices from the party faded behind her, until it was just the crunch of her shoes in the pebbled earth and the steady huff of her breath. Mikasa paused at the summit, letting the sea breeze ruffle her hair and skirt before turning back to stare out across the dark body of water below. The sky flashed, fissures of white jagging across the clouds. Thunder followed not long after.

“You made quick work of that hill.” Levi. She’d been too distracted to hear his approach. He came to stand a few feet to her right, looking between the encroaching storm and her face.

“Not a wedding person,” she said.

His boots crunched on the gravel, and then there was something soft pressing against her arm. Her shawl. She’d forgotten it at the table.

“Thanks.”

He grunted a response. Silence. Then it was awkward. Neither one spoke, both staring at the skyline in a vain attempt to both avoid conversation and find a way to start one. _Just say goodnight. You don’t owe him anything._

They both faltered, hitching and starting and speaking at the same time. Mikasa grimaced into the dark, wishing a bolt of lightning would strike her where she stood.

Levi exhaled deep in his throat. “You’ll be in that storm before you can make it home. My house is closer.” Then he strode past her, as if a debate were settled and he expected her to follow. When she didn’t, he added over his shoulder, “I’m not coming on to you, Mikasa. Just saying my place is on the way.”

Perhaps she should have declined. But Hange’s barbiturate was still on the nightstand in Levi’s guest room, so she went with that logic.

The walk to Levi’s was silent up until they crested the ridge leading to his drive, and he said, “you smiled.”

“Sorry?” She’d heard him. The statement had caught her off-guard.

“Tonight. You seemed happy. I haven’t seen you smile like that in a while.”

Mikasa risked a glance in the gloam to his face, but Levi was watching the road, profile sharp in the moonlight. “I suppose I was.”

Silence again, and she wondered if she’d offended him somehow. Then he murmured, “Jean didn’t seem too happy about you leaving.”

“No. He didn’t.” She left it at that for a few yards before letting out a deep sigh and adding, “I guess I’ve let him down. He’s always been a good friend. I haven’t been all that present over the years.”

Levi inhaled but didn’t speak immediately. He was choosing his words carefully. “You’ve had good reason to withdraw.”

“I’m not the only one who’s lost people.”

“No, you’re not. But you don’t always have to be everyone’s savior.”

Mikasa trudged to a stop, mind a war of mixed emotions. Levi halted as well and looked back at her, face indiscernible in the dark save for the two, glistering points of his eyes. The moonlight and shadows rendered him inhuman; a wraith in the night with the figure of a man. She would have found the sight unnerving, but she more than likely looked just as eerie. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

The gleaming eyes blinked a few times. “By here you mean…”

 _“Here._ This fucking coast. This life I’ve set up. Everything was so structured back in the war. I had a purpose and I had a job and now…” Rage, and that old familiar pang of displacement gripped her. “Now I’m just…”

“Lost.”

“Figuring things out,” she amended.

“Is that why you showed up at my door?” He took a few steps, shrinking the distance between them. She was met with the familiar but subtle savor of his soap. “Because you’re figuring things out?”

Was he mocking her? She wished his face was better illuminated. “I needed something to hit.”

A dark chuckle. “Oh, I know.” He took another step, placing his foot just between both of hers. He could kick her ankles out this way if he wanted. “But then you stayed. If you were only looking for a release, you would have gone elsewhere. Why waste your time with a tired crosspatch and his shitty boat?”

Despite the seaspray, the air felt too warm. “What do you want from me?” she murmured.

His breath was gentle and warm across her face, a small puff of a laugh. He pulled back, slate eyes searching her features in the dark. “I don’t want a goddamn thing from you, Mikasa.”

Beyond the bluff, the muted crash of the tide rose and fell in a steady rhythm. _In, out, push, pull._ With a controlled movement, Mikasa grasped either lapel of Levi’s jacket, twisting her fingers into the material like a slow curling ophidian. “Nothing? You want nothing?” There was a lie somewhere. No man wanted nothing. He fucked her, didn’t he? He wanted that?

Slowly, Levi wrapped his fingers around her hands, applying gentle pressure to release her grip from his jacket. He leaned in, and for a thrilling moment she thought they would kiss. “Nothing,” he whispered, thumbs brushing the backs of her knuckles, and she hoped he couldn’t see in the low light how her eyes filled with moisture. “Nothing.”

They completed the rest of the walk in silence. Levi was true to his word; there was no hidden purpose in his invitation, and they both went to their respective corners when they reached the house. Mikasa was oddly torn with how to end the night, wondering if she should say something before turning in. Perhaps a thank you for letting her stay. Or an apology.

Levi put an end to her internal debate with a succinct, “goodnight, Mikasa,” before closing himself away in his room.

For nearly forty-five minutes Mikasa lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, listening to the first droplets of rain hit the roof. It was her nightly, vain attempt at sleep without aid, to somehow _will_ herself to that place without rolling over and succumbing to a dose of Hange’s barbiturate. She got close some nights, slipping under for a few moments only to be awoken, startled, by some phantom noise in the night.

Thunder rumbled in the distance—gentle at this decibel, and yet Mikasa jolted. Lying on her back was becoming uncomfortable, so she turned onto her side, eyeing the sedative from where it mocked her on the nightstand. She closed her eyes to the bottle, attuning her focus to the muted roll of waves upon the shore, the ebb and flow of a constant force just below her. She teetered on that edge and sank, only to rise again with each rumble of the approaching storm.

The arch of her foot itched. She rubbed it against the sheets, which seemed to create enough friction to make her feel hot beneath the heavy comforter. She kicked both feet free from the blankets to aerate. The bottle was mocking her again. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Mikasa sat up and took her dose. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining hard now, white-noise in the background, and she almost didn’t hear the horse in the courtyard. It was the whinny that woke her.

Mikasa stumbled, blind in the dark and still half-asleep, managing to make it into her boots and down the hall. And then she was outside, not bothered much by the obvious skip in travel—she’d just woken up, afterall.

Someone was calling her name, a few people, they’d heard the horse two. The barracks were waking up. She didn’t pause to see who had entered the courtyard, too focused on the familiar figure riding up on a sodden horse.

“Captain.”

She recognized the line of his nose, his mouth, the rest of his features obscured by the dark, dripping strands of his hair. The horse trotted in her direction, no longer marshalled by its rider and seeking the nearest master to lead it from the storm and noise. Blinking rainwater from her eyes, Mikasa reached for the halter, murmuring calming words into the beast’s wild face. Levi hunched over himself. Then he fell from the saddle.

The horse tossed its head and pranced away from its fallen rider. Mikasa let it flee, wheeling to see where in the dark her captain had fallen. Lightning blazed above, casting the courtyard in a white flash. Where was he? She’d seen him fall from the horse, heard him. Right there on the stone. 

Another flash, and her eye caught the Wings of Freedom in the archway leading to the hall she’d come from, the familiar cloak black with rain. Levi stooped and leaned a hand against the wall, his hair dripping and mouth twisted in pain. Mikasa gaped, wondering how he’d managed the distance so quickly.

 _“Stop!”_ she bellowed, but her voice was lost beneath another crack of thunder.

Levi pressed away from the archway and stumbled into the corridor. Mikasa followed, bare feet slapping at the flooded flagstones. Her boots—she could have sworn she’d put boots on. She called his name again, but he pressed on as if deaf to her voice. She reached the hall, noting the bloody trail across the stone. He was very hurt.

 _Just stop!_ she wanted to yell, but she suddenly felt winded, as if running were some laborious task. Where were the others? She’d heard them stirring. Shouldn’t someone be here by now? The corridor stretched before her, almost a tunnel, with Levi making remarkable ground ahead for someone in his state. She tried again to shout, but all that came out was a pained wheeze.

Then she fell.

So she _had_ been wearing boots. Odd. They felt heavy and tight on her feet and calves, making it difficult to stand. Mikasa scrambled along the floor, an animalistic terror rising in her as she fought and failed to regain her footing. There was a roaring in her ears, like the rain had broken through the ceiling and was now crashing down around her. She reached after Levi, fingers grappling at his image. Her throat clenched, a raw moan rising from her lungs and building into a ragged _STOP!_

Levi stopped. Then he turned, and she could hear the water and blood dripping from his person even from this distance. Lightning flashed again, illuminating lifeless eyes and a mouth agape in a silent scream...

...and Mikasa woke up.

Rather, she was jolted awake by a pair of rough hands and her name bellowed into her ear. “Mikasa!” Levi. He was pulling her into him, hands digging into her wrists with bruising strength. The roaring sound still rang in her ears, and it took her a moment to realize it was the ocean. Levi wrapped his arms around her, trapping her against his chest in an odd parody of a hug. He continued to shout her name, but his command of “stop fighting me!” went unheeded as full understanding of her surroundings dawned on her. Mikasa arched as if called in the direction of the cliff, staring with morbid, wall-eyed wonder at the drop.

She was outside. She had walked outside toward the bluffs in the middle of the night. She had been _asleep_.

“Oi! You look at me, brat!” The moon reflected off his slate eyes, making them blaze—two distant lighthouses in the dark. She became aware of his chest beneath her hand, of his rapid heartbeat. She began to shiver, the sea wind whipping through her night shift like a blade. “The hell was that, Mikasa? Huh?” He shook her, hard, and Mikasa gaped at the raw look of anger and _fear_ in his face.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, voice distant to her own ears.

Levi held very still, blinking rain water from his eyes. His grip on her upper arms was becoming painful. “You could have fucking died, brat.” He was no longer shouting, voice low and rasping. Tired _._ “You could have died.”

“I was dreaming.”

“You were dreaming,” he repeated, and the relief was strong in his tone. His hands released her when he realized she was done struggling. He held her face, thumbs hooking beneath her chin to bring her gaze level with his. “And you’re awake now.” It was half question, half assurance.

“I’m awake.”

The transition from outdoors to the house was a blur, and Mikasa would have thought herself still asleep had it not been for Levi’s warm hand on her forearm or the steady pants of his breath. He helped her out of her boots— _God,_ she’d put them on—and sat her down at the kitchen table. She was shaking madly now, teeth clattering in her skull even when he draped a towel around her shoulders.

The clock on the far wall became a soothing anchor for her flailing mind, the steady _tick-tock_ like a tether to the waking world. It was two in the morning. Mikasa stared at the round face, aware of her hair dripping onto the towel.

“Is it this shit?” Levi’s voice broke her trance. He was waving something before her. “Brat, is this it?” The barbiturate.

“Huh?”

“How much did you take, Mikasa?” His brow was drawn, like he was lecturing a child.

“Not too much.” Her throat felt like parchment. She swallowed and tried again. “I mean, just the dose Hange prescribed.”

“Are you sure?”

A spark of annoyance filled her gut, which she supposed was a good sign. At least she didn’t feel so desolate. “The cap is one dose. I only take one.”

“Well, does _one dose_ usually make you get up for a midnight stroll when you’re still asleep?” Levi’s eyes widened the barest amount, as if the gravity of the situation were hitting him anew. He sat. Then he dragged both hands down his face a few times before resting his forehead in his palms. “Mikasa,” he breathed. _“Fuck.”_

Unsure of what to say, Mikasa inched her hand along the table. Her fingertips found his elbow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Neither moved for a few minutes. Then, slowly, Levi’s hand fell from his face and covered hers. She observed the difference in their fingers, their skin, watching how his thumb moved along her knuckles. “How did you…?”

“I heard you moving around. I would have let it be, but you were unusually loud.”

She huffed a laugh at that. His eyes lifted to hers, no humor there. She sobered. “I put my boots on. I don’t remember doing that.”

“You put your boots on.” His eyes cornered to the medicine bottle on the table. He picked it up with his free hand and regarded it carefully. “You were dreaming.” The statement was quiet, as if he were repeating it to himself in disbelief.

“The tonic was for sleep, but it doesn’t do anything for the nightmares. They just keep getting worse.”

Something passed across Levi’s expression. A subtle understanding. He looked away to some point on the floor. “When you…” He shook his head, eyes closing for a moment. “When you were heading toward the edge, I thought you saw someone.” His thumb coursed along the fine bones in her wrist.

“It was always Eren and Armin before. Always them dying, or about to die, and all I can fucking do is watch. I can’t move. I’m just useless.” The words faded to a whisper as her throat constricted. “It was you this time.”

A pause. He wasn’t breathing. “Me?”

“I saw you.” 

Levi swallowed, eyes focused on her upturned wrist in his hand. Then he pulled away. Mikasa wondered if she should have kept that information to herself.

“Are you going to throw it out?” She jutted her chin at the barbiturate.

“Are you going to keep taking it?”

Mikasa shook her head, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. “No. Of course not.” The damp towel around her shoulders was making her skin itch. “Besides, I’ve had enough of waking up to late night storms.” She stood to stretch, lifting her arms above her head for a satisfying pop in the middle of her back. 

Mikasa became aware of how the damp nightgown clung to her form, of her nipples erect in the cold air. She cornered her gaze to Levi, saw him watching her from where he sat. His gaze lowered to the edge of her shift, which had lifted in her stretch to expose her upper thighs. “The night you knocked on my door,” he murmured, hand lifting to flutter against the back of her knee. She shuddered. “You know, for a moment I thought you had come to kill me.”

Gooseflesh engulfed her leg as his fingers traced up the back of her thigh. “Kill you?”

His eyes lifted but wouldn’t meet hers. Mikasa turned her body to him, stepping into his knees. Levi pressed his forehead against her sternum, and she gave into the temptation of carding her fingers through his hair. He sighed, breath hot against her stomach, and his hands slid up the side of her legs to pause at the hemline of her shift. “Seemed a bit fitting,” he murmured. 

Mikasa wondered if he could hear how her heart hammered in her chest. She was nearly atop him now, one knee resting against the chair between his legs. His hair was still damp beneath her fingers, but soft to the touch, and she relished the low sounds he made when she dragged her nails along his scalp. “I didn’t mean it,” she muttered, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say. “Before. I didn’t come here just to hit something.”

A muffled snort. His hands were at her hips now, pressing and seeking. “Brat.” 

She was already wet when his fingers slipped beneath her underwear. Mikasa widened her legs, uncaring if she seemed desperate. The slow, rhythmic slide of his forefinger against her clit made her gasp and dig her nails into his shoulders. Removing a hand from his hair, she hooked a finger into the band of her underwear, shimmying the garment down her legs and kicking them off her ankles. Levi inhaled heavily, hands gripping the flesh of her thighs, her ass, pushing her dress up her hips, his mouth skirting along her hip bones.

This was going to happen quickly. She was hazy and caught up in the erotic press of his tongue against her clit. His fingers curled, maddeningly slow, and then she was coming on his hand and gasping to the ceiling.

It was too much, all of it was too much. Her knees buckled. Levi pulled her astride him, burying his face into her neck, arms encircling her waist. The rain had rejuvenated the fresh smell of his soap, and Mikasa pressed her nose into his hair, wondering if she smelled like him now.

They stayed like that for several minutes until her breathing had evened and she’d calmed against him. Her fingers unfurled from his shirt, palms pressing into his chest. He’d held her like this once before. On another rainy night. They’d become well familiar with each others bodies, but this level of intimacy was still foreign. And in the sanctuary of her mind, Mikasa allowed herself to admit that she _liked_ the weight of his arms around her, how his hands felt on her back and hips.

Sliding her hands up his chest to frame his face, Mikasa leaned back enough to regard his features. His dark hair was nearly dry, a few strands falling across his brow, making him all the more raffish. Softly, she dragged her finger along his brow bone, shifting the dark fringe aside to reveal more of his face.

And then she was kissing him. For a terrifying moment, he didn’t move in his stupefaction. Just before she was about to pull away, a low groan rumbled in his throat and his lips softened against hers. He was kissing her _back_. The chair complained, and then Levi hoisted her onto the table and pulled her legs around his hips. He was kissing her hungrily now, breaking from her mouth only when she pulled his shirt above his head. Impatient, Mikasa shimmied the straps of her dress over her shoulders and slid the clothing down her torso, where it promptly got trapped at her hips.

Levi smirked against her mouth before pulling away to peer down at her. “You really do have very pretty tits.”

Mikasa scrunched up her face, arms itching to cross over her exposed chest. “They’re so small.”

“Good.” He bent to her left breast, grazing his teeth across the nipple and making her gasp. “They fit in my hands.”

Mikasa pulled him up for another kiss, mainly because she could, and he complied greedily. A strangled groan left him when she palmed him through his pants, and she grinned against his jaw. He breathed a heady _“fuck”_ as she worked him slow, attempting to angle her hips against him.

“You’re taking too long,” she said.

Her hand was snatched away from its task. “I’m enjoying myself, brat,” he countered, but then he pulled her from the table to standing and lead her to his room. The initial thrill of entering his space was undermined by the brief flash of guilt she felt at the sight of the dark little trunk in the corner of the room. He was kissing her again, hands gripping and turning and making her sigh, and she quickly forgot about the trunk.

They fell to the bed, Levi rolling on top to resume attention on her breasts with his mouth and tongue. Mikasa arched into his attention, shifting her hips as he pulled the shift down her hips and legs. Propping herself up to her elbows, Mikasa watched him undo his belt, observing the hard planes of his abdomen, the deep lines of his obliques…

“Yes?” Levi drawled, regarding her with an amused expression that made her stomach flip. 

“Hurry up.”

He withdrew his belt from his pants at an irritatingly protracted pace. “Don't tell me what to do.”

Mikasa launched herself from the bed and covered the distance between them in two strides, enjoying the way his eyes widened at her advance. She kissed him, groaning at the feel of his bare skin against hers.

“Brat,” he murmured against her mouth, walking them back to the bed. He spoke something into her neck, the words lost in their descent upon the mattress.

“What?” she gasped, grinding against him.

“I said,” he kissed her jaw, kneeing open her legs, “I enjoy kissing you.”

Mikasa’s head snapped back, jaw slackening as he drove into her. She pressed up from the bed, angling her hips to better take him. “Oh, _fuck.”_ This was slow—slower than they’d gone before, but the desperate hunger was still there in the roll of his hips and the arch of her back. She wondered how conceited it made her, but Mikasa almost wished to see how their bodies moved, to witness how the moonlight cascaded down the strong planes of his back, how the muscles of her thighs flexed and bore the impressions of his fingers.

Their coupling steadied to a lazy rhythm. Mikasa decided this didn’t bother her, and given the languid way he kissed her, his tongue dipping along her lower lip to soothe where his teeth had been, she found she rather _enjoyed_ the sedate pace. He was close—she’d become adept at reading his breath and recognizing the urgency in his fingers. He was drawing this out.

Mikasa’s chest felt strange, like her heart was going to climb out of her throat, and all of a sudden those _rules_ she’d held so firmly to were harder to recall, especially when he held her to him so carefully and brushed his nose along the side of her jaw. She squeezed her eyes shut, surprised by the burn there. “Keep going,” she rasped, eager and frantic all at once. “Ah, fuck, _keep going.”_

With a grunt, Levi shifted her right leg toward her chest, rutting into her with a new fervor that made her gasp. He rose to his forearm, the angle bringing his hips against her clit _just_ so, and then she was keening off the edge again, spasming around him. He drove into her once, twice, and then succumbed to his own orgasm, forehead falling to her shoulder as he gasped through each wave.

In the dark, her eyes glanced over the chest in the corner. She froze.

“Probably where I’ve put my uniform, come to think of it,” Levi said, noticing her line of sight.

“Oh,” she mumbled, glancing between him and the box, as if being caught staring at the thing were somehow a crime. She turned away from the chest and silenced the voice in her head urging her to inquire over it _._

They didn’t speak for a while after that, comfortable in the silence with the gentle rustle of sheets and the steady rainfall above. Kissing him was a decidedly addictive experience, and a reminder that their relationship had irrevocably changed. They made love again—because that’s what it was, she supposed—and then contented themselves with tracing and exploring the other’s skin.

When Mikasa stifled a yawn, his mouth quirked against her neck in one of those unwonted smiles of his. Unable to help herself, she adjusted until her face was level with his, hoping to catch sight of the expression; as expected, it was gone. His eyes were soft, however. Thoughtful.

“Levi?” she breathed.

“If you stay…” He kept his eyes downturned, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “I might say too much.”

She captured the hand at her mouth. Then she kissed him so he wouldn’t have to speak at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Rivamika kiss! Smut! Sliiiight confession of feelings!
> 
> Aside from work, this chapter was a bit delayed because it fought me a little. One of the things I had to remind myself while I was writing it is that this story is based in a deliberately limited and somewhat unreliable point of view. That is partly because its focus is on Rivamika's developing relationship, but also because it's all coming through Mikasa's lens, and thus has her usual pouty-Hamlet outlook to the pacing. As much as I wanted to delve into more of the background with Jean, and even with his wife, as well as touch more on other characters like Conny, I realized I was getting away from that limited-perspective theme I just mentioned. 
> 
> That being said, I love to hear your speculations and impressions of how things are going! We're nearing the end here, so I'm interested to see what you think is gonna happen next...


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